Gilbert of Avonlea
by DearElla
Summary: A story from Gilbert's POV as a poor farmer and school teacher, obliged to remain in Avonlea after a series of misfortunes, when a certain wood sprite comes back into his life…
1. A Mad Wood Sprite

Anne was coming home today. Gilbert had known this fact for weeks, yet whenever Avonlea conversation turned toward its prodigal, adopted daughter, he pretended an ambivalence that few believed.

It was common knowledge that Gilbert Blythe had held a candle for the fiery redhead from Green Gables ever since she had cracked a slate over his head when they were children. It was also common knowledge that Miss Anne Shirley would soon announce her engagement to a Mr. Royal Gardner, a man so far removed from the fortunes of Gilbert Blythe that there was absolutely no threat whatsoever from Avonlea's favorite son wherever Anne was concerned.

This distressing fact had plagued Gilbert ever since he had first heard of Roy Gardner two years before, straight from Anne's pen in one of the many letters of their frequent discourse. Roy was the summation of all Anne's imaginings: a tall and dark brooding man with all the poetic and romantic musings to sweep her off her feet. That he was also rich and one of the most eligible bachelors of Kingsport was merely icing on the cake.

Gilbert, meanwhile, was only a poor farmer and school teacher, obliged to remain on the Blythe farm in Avonlea due to various misfortunes that had befallen him through no fault of his own. That he was widely considered the most handsome of his Avonlea generation did little to compete with the brooding Kingsport prince. That he had one of the finest minds in Canada, let alone P.E.I., was a fact utterly unacknowledged and unappreciated by anyone in Avonlea.

Only Anne and a few precious teachers had realized his brilliance, yet his education had come to a halt when he had not won the Avery scholarship at Queen's Academy, an honor that had gone, albeit deservedly, to Anne, enabling her dream of attending Redmond College.

He had nurtured hopes of working his way to college, but those hopes had been dashed when his father fell ill again. His school teacher earnings had gone to doctor's bills and then to pay for another trip back West for the prairie cure. His mother and father went, leaving Gilbert to continue teaching at the Avonlea schoolhouse and manage the only asset they had left, the Blythe farm.

His parents eventually gave up on the prairie cure and returned, his father weak and near death. Yet he lingered for more than a year, his wife and son doing everything they could to ease his suffering. Along with the doctor's visits, Gilbert studied borrowed medical books late into the night for any remedy that might help. He had once dreamed of becoming a doctor, a dream so far from reality that he had only voiced it once - to Anne. She had listened and believed in him. She had no idea how much that had meant to him, even though those hopes were now well and truly dashed.

Gilbert Blythe had become fairly accustomed to disappointment and sadness over the years. The expectation of Anne's engagement was merely another, yet it struck him especially hard. His father's last, rasping words to him had largely consisted of heartfelt apologies for his son's lost dreams. Gilbert had not allowed him to say such things. His beloved father had then said,

"Perhaps there is one dream left to you, Gil. One of the red-headed variety. I would rest peacefully, knowing you had won her heart, my son."

He had given Gilbert a loving look, then spoke no more.

His words resounded in Gilbert's mind as he once again heard about Anne's upcoming engagement.

"He's rich to be sure, and dashing and wicked I presume," Mrs. Harmon Andrews was saying to his mother by the Blythe vegetable garden. Gilbert paused in digging the new furrows for planting the summer vegetables, while his mother leaned against the garden's picket fence.

"Now my Jane, she made sure to marry a sensible and good millionaire," continued Mrs. Harmon Andrews with the air of much knowledge on the subject of millionaire matches. "They cannot be too young, you know, these rich men. Too wicked and fast-paced at that age to be of marriageable material." Jane's husband, Mr. Millionaire-from-Winnipeg, was decidedly middle-aged, short and stout, with an ever growing bald spot.

"I'm sure he's a nice enough fellow," Edie Blythe said, nervously glancing over at her son. "Anne is whimsical, but she's not foolish. Marilla has seen to that in raising her."

"Well, Anne has been over in Kingsport for nigh on four years now," said Mrs. Harmon Andrews imperiously. "All that good Green Gables and Avonlea sense has likely been snuffed out of her with that city life and college learning. It's no good for these young ladies to be getting educated. Surely it fills their heads with nothing but nonsensical ideas of life outside the home."

Gilbert straightened up. "Women deserve to be educated, if they like, Mrs. Harmon. Especially women as smart and ambitious as Anne."

"Oh, Gilbert," Mrs. Harmon sighed. "This all must be dreadful hard for you. You've never quite had your senses wherever Anne was concerned."

Gilbert's lips pressed together, and he returned to digging furrows as Mrs. Harmon Andrews prattled on.

"I suppose you must now be thinking of finally courting one of the other Avonlea girls. Of course, you missed your chance with Diana and Jane, waiting around for Anne. Now my Gracie is a bit younger than Jane, but she's grown so lovely, shall I let her know you might come visit us sometime?"

"Now, now," said Edie, sensing Gilbert about to erupt, "Let's leave the young folks to themselves."

"I suppose," said Mrs. Harmon dourly. "But please do come by, both of you. This time of year must be extra trying for you since dear Mr. Blythe's passing last summer. If there's anything I can do, please do not hesitate to ask. But be sure to not come on Tuesdays or Wednesdays or Fridays, or rather any day other than Thursday."

"That's very kind of you," said Mrs. Blythe, smothering a wry smile. "We'll be sure to visit then sometime."

Gilbert's head flew up at this pronouncement, but his mother ignored him.

"Well, I'll leave you to your planting," said Mrs. Harmon. "I'm on my way to my son Billy's place. Did you hear that Nettie just had their second son? Beautiful baby. I just cannot bear to go too long without seeing his dear face. So like his father already. Bye bye now."

Gilbert hoped the poor child did not actually take after his round, pockmarked father, but perhaps it could not be helped.

Edie sighed and looked warily over at her son, digging furrows with a vengeance. She walked over to him and laid a gentle hand on his bronzed shoulder.

"I love you, son," she said simply. Gilbert paused. "You are so good, the best son we could have hoped for. You deserve so much more than what life has given you."

"Mother," Gilbert protested.

She smiled sadly at him. "I hope with all my being that you get the happiness you deserve someday. Until then, pay no mind to the meddling and gossip. None of that matters."

Gilbert nodded. "Yes, Ma."

"God lad." She patted his shoulder and turned to pull weeds.

They worked in silence, the late afternoon sun shining upon them. Gilbert wondered if Anne had arrived yet, perhaps she was already at the Carmody station. Perhaps her fiance had accompanied her, to obtain the Cuthberts' blessing. Anne's last letter had been vague about her return. Nearly all of her letters had been distant and vague this past year, her final year at Redmond, no doubt due to the question of communicating with another man whilst courting another. Every letter discussed nothing further than the weather or time of year, with the inevitable mention of the dashing and worldly Roy. Yet Gilbert had treasured each letter, reading them over and over, searching for hidden meanings. Anne had always maintained a strict boundary of friendship between them, but he felt that she had begun to treat him as an acquaintance of late, likely owing to her romance with the fascinating Royal Gardner. However, the latest letter had set his heart racing with possibility.

 _Dear Gilbert,_

 _I am thinking of Avonlea and recalling all her glorious secret bowers. Springtime is just_ _not_ _the same here in Kingsport. There is only the briefest flowering of violets and other posies that could not possibly hold a candle to the beauteousness of Avonlea throughout its lovely springtimes and summertimes. I suppose 'beauteousness' is not a word, Mr. Spelling Bee, yet it should be. Redmond has not yet been able to correct my poor spelling, so I doubt it ever shall. Redmond has also been unable to curb my longing for dear old Avonlea. It is true, though, that whenever Roy speaks of the glory of Venice or the majesty of Athens, I feel that I have simply not seen enough of the world. But is it really impossible to imagine that our beloved P.E.I. could not compete with such grandiose places? Surely they do not have the springtime bowers I speak of. At least, I shall return soon and see for myself. I hope nothing has changed, when I feel myself so altered by the circumstances of the last couple years._

 _Your friend,_

 _Anne (With an 'E')_

 _P.S. Gilbert, please be sure to envision my name with an 'E' every time you think or say it. I have the most queer feeling that you have not been doing so, and it bothers me somehow._

In return, Gilbert had written:

 _Dear Ann_ _ **e**_ _(With an 'E'),_

 _Does that suffice, oh Anne With an 'E?' Your queer feeling is doing you an injustice, because I have and will always envision your name with an 'E.' Avonlea is indeed lush with springtime flowers and showers. I have rarely recalled so wet a spring. I hope that will mean more flowers for you, Dryad, when you return home. I cannot compare Venice and Athens to our island, and I doubt I ever shall, but I believe in the beauty of our little bit of earth and am glad to call it home. Whither thou goest, I hope your heart will always see our island as home, for it shall always be a home to you. You also do yourself a disservice - 'beauteous' is indeed a word_ and _correctly spelled, although 'beauteousness' is a new invention perhaps. I think it is a bit too rainy to currently use 'beauteousness' to describe Avonlea, but I am sure you would disagree. Unfortunately, the rain has also revealed the numerous holes in the schoolhouse roof. I believe there are more pots, pans, and pitchers in the desks than pupils. Unfortunately, the school board finds the structure still suitable for learning. Thankfully, the students are sturdy little tykes and thriving despite the wet. They inspire me with their enthusiasm, just as you inspired me to compete with your brilliance years ago in the same classroom. It is wonderful to know that you are now on the verge of being a fully fledged BA. I wish you the best of luck as you study for your final examinations. (Although I doubt you'll require any luck at all)._

 _Yours,_

 _Gilbert_

The letter exchange gave him hope for the first time since Roy Gardner had come into Anne's life two years earlier. Gilbert was certainly not Anne's only correspondent, however, and the conversations regarding her letters to other Avonlea friends all revolved around her declared imminent proposal from Mr. Gardner. The gossip was so certain of Anne's upcoming engagement, that Gilbert began to believe he had too long searched for meanings where none existed.

Gilbert could guess that Anne would be upset, if unsurprised, that none of the excitement regarding her return was about her BA. Surely that was the true accomplishment? But little else could be expected from a small village that had never before seen one of its women graduate from college.

Gilbert was annoyed with himself at how he listened to the engagement gossip, attempting to glean any bit of news about Anne. His life of teaching and farming felt on hold as he dreaded the day Anne returned with an engagement ring upon her finger.

The sun was still bright with early summer sunshine, but closer to the horizon, when he wiped the sweat from his eyes and looked up from digging the furrows. His mother ceased weeding and removed her gardening gloves.

"I think that's good for today," she said. "I'll make some supper whilst you do the evening chores."

They washed up at the pump, Gilbert splashing water up onto his bare chest and slicking wet his brown curls. Edie dried her hands primly, then Gilbert dried himself before neatly hanging the towel on the clothesline. She went into the house, and Gilbert headed to the south pasture to fetch the cows. The verdant pasture was flecked with wildflowers, the Jersey cows contentedly grazing. At his approach, the cows came eagerly towards him, a couple of shy calves hiding amid their elders. He guided them toward the water trough in the barnyard, before settling them with fresh hay in the barn. Milking followed, and Gilbert filled a tin pail with the milk the calves had not consumed. He carefully covered the pail with a clean cloth.

The sun was setting as he made his way back to the house, checking in on the pigpen. Their two young hogs were already squealing for the slops that would be theirs from the day's kitchen scraps. Gilbert supposed the late supper he would share with his mother would be some baked beans and creamed peas with some of the new lettuce leaves from their garden.

He sat with a sigh on the broad red sandstone step of the Blythe farmhouse. The sun had set rapidly, and only the red glow of its setting could be seen along the horizon. Darkness fell over Avonlea, moody blue and black shadows blanketing the pastures and woods. A crescent moon was rising and starting to give off a pearly light.

He could almost see his life stretched out in front of him in the darkness of the summer night. It would be school teaching interspersed with backbreaking work at the family farm, making him slowly stooped and weakened over time. He would be a bachelor who lived with his mother until she died, and then lived alone until he died. Respected in the village, but known as that "poor old man." It would be a life of weeding and milking and creamed peas!

Suddenly, Gilbert could not bear it one single moment more. He leapt to his feet and bolted from the farmhouse, leaving behind the covered pail of milk on the step.

In the shadows, he ran headlong to the Haunted Wood, where he leaned against a tree and ran his hands through his hair. He yanked on his curls as if he would rip them out. Tears stung his eyes. Wiping them away fiercely, he bolted again, deeper into the wood, where he nearly fell as he stopped short.

An eerie figure pranced about with abandon beneath the wood's ghostly trees. The figure leapt and spun around as fluidly as a wood sprite, and Gilbert stood transfixed at the odd display. The elfin creature suddenly released a loud, delighted laugh, and Gilbert finally recognized _who_ was dancing in the moonlit Haunted Wood. Heart in his throat, he stepped forward, and the wood sprite froze at the intrusion. Gilbert hastened forward, afraid that she would disappear just as a startled wood sprite might.

"Anne!"

The wood sprite raised her chin as only Anne could, nose in the air, reclaiming her dignity. There was an awkward moment of silence, then she cleared her throat uncomfortably and gave a soft laugh.

"Gilbert…. You must think me mad." There was another momentary silence, and then she laughed breathlessly.

Gilbert crept closer, hardly believing he had stumbled across Anne - _Anne!_ \- and at her most elfin. Her beautiful face caught the moonlight, her grey eyes shining with mirth.

"I must be dreaming," said Gilbert, then blushed as he realized that he had spoken aloud.

"No," said Anne hesitantly, ceasing to laugh and nervously fisting her hands in her skirt. "I really am this foolish. I suppose I'm never growing up at this rate."

Gilbert came to stand before her and smiled. "Where would be the fun in that?" He was close enough to see her blush. "What made you dance, oh Dryad?" he found himself saying, then winced at his words.

Anne colored again, and Gilbert felt a sudden horrible realization that she must be celebrating her engagement in her own elfin way. He had not yet noticed if a ring graced her finger and found that he could not see her hand due to the nighttime shadows. A visceral pain seared across his heart, and he began to back away, when Anne spoke.

"I was savoring Avonlea's secret bowers," she said quietly, looking at the ground. "The flowers are just as wonderful as you promised. It is so very wonderful to be returned home."

Gilbert hesitated, then asked, "Has your fiance returned with you?"

Anne glanced up at him, surprised. "I-I don't have a fiance."

Gilbert stared at her, uncomprehending. "I don't understand. I thought Roy Gardner - "

"I'm not engaged to Roy," said Anne. She colored again, and something like shame swept over her face, before she lowered her head. "I refused him."

"Re - refused?" stammered Gilbert.

"He proposed," Anne whispered. Gilbert crept forward to hear. "And I realized…. I realized… "

He was standing directly before her now.

"Realized what, Anne?" He could hardly bear the suspense.

But Anne was unwilling to reveal her revelation, for she suddenly shook her head, and then shook it again as though to clear it.

"How - how are you, Gilbert?" she stammered in turn. Finally aware of how close they were standing, she took a tentative step back, and then realized that they were holding hands. Gilbert had not noticed either, but his hand burned with the loss as they hastily disconnected.

"Fine," he replied softly. "Same as usual."

Nothing could be further from the truth. The trembling, tentative happiness that was coursing through him was certainly a rare occurrence. He felt as though he needed to retreat to a quiet place to sort his thoughts and emotions in the wake of this monumental knowledge. Anne would not be marrying the Kingsport prince. She had refused him! It seemed an incredible thing.

"Congratulations on your graduation, Anne," Gilbert continued, "You're a B.A., now!"

"Thank you," she murmured, then added, "It's good to be home."

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading! To clarify, this story takes place with the premise that Anne accepted the Avery scholarship, Matthew did not die, and Gilbert's father did. I have also taken a few liberties with timing in this story, as you'll likely note. I hope you'll bear with me, especially since I'm a slow writer... I will attempt to post chapters regularly. I am so excited to finally write an Anne of Green Gables fanfic! - E


	2. Gil's Gone Mad

An hour after his elfin encounter with Anne, Gilbert floated into the Blythe farmhouse and was quickly accosted by his mother.

"Gilbert! Where have you been?! I've been worried sick."

She watched in amazement as he gave a vague chuckle and floated on past her. He started to ascend the stairs, and Edie felt a flash of fear that the strain of Anne's homecoming might have caused him to - hopefully temporarily - lose his wits. Or had he gotten into the drink with Fred?

Gilbert vanished upstairs, and after Edie had unthawed herself, she hastened up after him.

Gilbert had gone into his room and crawled, suspenders and all, into his bed. His mother tapped insistently on the door, and when there was no response, went in. She gawked at him, and then narrowed her eyes.

"Are you sick, Gil? Did you go to the Wright's?"

Gilbert smiled at her indulgently, and his mother's eyebrows rose.

"I saw Anne, mother," he replied.

"Anne!" she ejaculated. No wonder her poor son had gone mad.

"She's not marrying that Kingsport fellow," he continued and grinned.

"What?!" Edie gawked again. "She's not… What?!"

"She refused him," Gilbert said with satisfaction.

"Refused him…?" Edie said in disbelief.

Gilbert nodded emphatically. "Refused him."

A slow, wide grin of delight spread across Mrs. Blythe's face.

"There may be some hope for you yet, my son!" She exclaimed overjoyed. "Get out of bed, you lump!" she continued gleefully and ran from the room.

Gilbert had his turn to gawk, then he rose from the bed and ran after her. Downstairs in the kitchen, his mother was rummaging around in the back of a cupboard.

"Aha!" she cried, and pulled out a dusty bottle of -

"Current wine?" asked Gilbert in astonishment.

"One of Marilla's prize-winning ones actually," said Edie, pleased. "She was rather eager to get rid of it, I recall, though I've no idea why. I've been saving it for something special." She frowned. "It's been awhile, so I hope it's not gone to vinegar."

She set the bottle down on the kitchen table and began to search for suitable glasses, but after a few moments of fruitless searching, set out two teacups with a shrug.

"Will you open the bottle, son?"

Gilbert realized his jaw was hanging open and closed it. He then joined his mother at the kitchen table and set about uncorking the old bottle. Pouring a healthy dollop in each teacup, they clinked their cups together and took a sip.

"Ah, that's nice," Edie sighed.

"Mmm," Gilbert agreed.

"Now, not a word of this to Mrs. Barry," Mrs. Blythe admonished. "She doesn't look too kindly on drinking."

She glanced over at her son and seemed to take in his appearance for the first time.

"Gilbert! You didn't run into Anne _shirtless_ did you?!"

He looked down at his chest in some surprise. Sure enough, his bare, bronzed chest was covered only by the thin suspenders hooked into his work trousers. He reddened and scratched self-consciously at the dark smattering of curls on his chest.

"I guess I hadn't noticed, Ma," he said with some embarrassment.

Mrs. Blythe tsked in disbelief. "Gilbert John Blythe, you are your own worst enemy, sometimes. Anne Shirley's just come back from high-fashion Kingsport, and you're running around like a heathen in the woods!"

Privately, she thought her son may have impressed the redhead with his chiseled chest, but _still_.

"I'll do better, Ma," Gilbert promised, thinking of elfin Anne skipping about in the woods.

"I know what can help you do better," Edie said with a pleased smile, bringing Gilbert back to the present.

Surprised, Gilbert watched as his mother again bounded up and disappeared, this time upstairs. A few minutes later she returned, cradling something wrapped in tissue paper as though it were the baby Jesus. With a flourish, she laid it on the kitchen table in front of Gilbert. Tentatively, he reached out and pulled back the tissue paper, revealing a handsome light grey suit.

"Where'd this come from, Ma?" Gilbert asked in amazement.

His mother smiled ruefully. "Well, it was supposed to be a surprise for you, meant for you to take to college. But when that…. didn't happen, I decided to save it for another occasion."

Gilbert's eyebrows were at his hairline. "You mean my wedding?" he squeaked uncharacteristically. He hastily took another sip of wine.

"No, you silly! You've got to woo her first, and you've got to look well! Anne's a cultured lady, and you'll have to look the part of a suitor!"

"Oh," grinned Gilbert. He fingered the collar of the suit. "This is wonderful, Ma."

Her eyes softened. "It's made of fine broadcloth from Baxter's in Carmody," she said. "And the suit's cut is in the new style, well, new four years ago anyway."

Touched, Gilbert's eyes welled with tears. "Thank you, Ma."

Tears trickled down her cheeks, too. "It's not much, but it came from here." She patted her heart.

"It's everything," he choked, before pulling his mother into his arms for a hug.

The next morning, Gilbert woke with a headache. He and his mother had tippled long into the night, reminiscing about Mr. John Blythe and dreaming about a future with Anne, only going to bed when the bottle of current wine was empty. Rubbing his forehead, he blearily sat up and looked out the window, surprised to see the sun well risen. Shaking his head slowly at his oversleeping, he rose and quickly dressed. He went down the stairs and blinked at the vision of his mother, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, flipping pancakes.

"Hurry up, lazy bones!" she called cheerfully. "You've had a bit of a lie-in. No worries, I've milked the cows. Come and sit down while the flapjacks are hot."

He sat down, and Edie heaped a stack of pancakes onto his plate and drizzled it thickly with maple syrup. She capped off this service with a smacking kiss on the cheek.

"Thanks, Ma," said Gilbert, blushing a bit. "You seem… "

"Joyful? Excited?" she prompted, as she returned to the stove.

" _Unaffected_ was what I was thinking," Gilbert said with a wry smile.

"Oh, that," said his mother, waving her hand dismissively. "I've always been able to hold my liquor."

Gilbert gaped. When had his mother learned _that_? _Perhaps I've gone mad_ , he wondered. Everything seemed skewed since running into Anne last night. Had he even run into Anne last night? Or had a wood sprite worked her charms upon him? It may not yet be quite midsummer, but it seemed like Avonlea had become the stage of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_.

He grinned at the last thought, but his eagerness to confirm last night's revelation in the Haunted Wood had him rising from the table.

"I've got to get to Green Gables," he said.

"Hang on just a mo'," shrilled Mrs. Blythe. "You can't go looking like that!" She gestured to his work clothes. Now eat your flapjacks."

She managed to get him to eat a few bites before he was hastening up the stairs to change. He returned several minutes later in one of his usual schoolteacher suits, a three-piece serviceable brown suit, along with his straw boater.

"I'll save the new suit for - for later," he told his mother.

She nodded her understanding. "Of course. You're just getting reacquainted." She beamed as she straightened his tie, then quickly tried to fork more bites of flapjack into his mouth.

"Mother!" he protested indignantly through a mouthful.

"You've got to keep up your strength, Gil. You work far too hard. Just one more bite."

With a sigh, he obliged.

"Now you may go," said Mrs. Blythe, smiling brightly. "Oh, wait - " She quickly ran to the window sill where a bouquet of lilies of the valley were in a vase. She dried off the stems and handed them brightly to Gilbert.

"Her favorite," breathed Gilbert. "Ma, you're the best."

"Picked them myself this morning while you were sleeping in. Thought you might need them." She smiled.

"Thank you," he murmured, and kissed her cheek.

It was hot and bright outside, a refreshing breeze blowing every few minutes. Walking over to Green Gables, he felt a sense of trepidation, but he kept putting one foot in front of the other, and the Cuthbert's farm eventually came into view. It seemed he had not been the only one with the idea to visit Anne on her first day back, and he nearly turned around at the sight of two buggies in front of the house. When he recognized one of the buggies as belonging to Harmon Andrews, he heaved a sigh at what he was about to face, and like a martyr, marched up to the front door.

Anne herself opened the door within a moment of his knocking. Unbeknownst to him, she had been watching his progress from a window, becoming worried when he paused in the front yard.

"Gilbert! I'm so glad you came!" she said all in a rush. "Do come in." Her face was flushed, and her eyes darted shyly to the lilies, to his eyes, and then away.

"Yes, Gilbert, do come in!" called a chorus of eager voices from the parlor, Mrs. Rachel Lynde's chief among them. Gilbert and Anne exchanged a nervous glance.

"Here," he said, holding out the bouquet for her. "A little something to welcome you home."

Anne beamed, taking the flowers into her hands. "Lilies of the valley! Thank you. Will you - will you join us in the parlor?"

He smiled and nodded, and when he turned to follow her, braced himself for what he would undoubtedly find. In the parlor were Mrs. Harmon Andrews, Jane Inglis (nee Andrews), Mrs. Rachel Lynde, Mrs. Harrison, and Marilla Cuthbert. Gilbert nearly missed noticing young Dora Keith sitting primly on the window ledge, quiet and out of sight. Nary a seat was to be found, except a low stool. Anne elegantly folded herself into a portrait of reclining beauty upon the parlor rug, and Gilbert, after looking askance at the stool, joined her. He certainly did not want to be sitting if Anne was not, and he knew that stool would cause his knees to poke up like a grasshopper's. Reclusive Mr. Cuthbert was nowhere to be found, and neither was Dora's harum-scarum twin Davy, and Gilbert didn't blame them. If it weren't for Anne, he would have avoided this gathering for all he was worth.

As it was, Gilbert did not have to wait long for the confirmation he sought.

"Anne has just informed us that she is not engaged, as so many of us thought," said Mrs. Harmon Andrews with an air of great significance. "You might be especially interested in such a revelation, Gilbert."

"Why, Mrs. Harmon," said Anne with a certain queenishness that Gilbert was delighted to see resurface. "You make it sound as though I went to college to find a husband, not earn a B.A."

"Well, of course you go to become a B.A.," scoffed Mrs. Harmon Andrews. "It's only natural to find a spouse as well."

"Perhaps," said Anne with a flash of her grey eyes.

Mrs. Rachel Lynde spoke. "Well, at least you're now back on Prince Edward Island, Anne dearie. You can never tell about those mainlanders." Mrs. Lynde looked upon all people who had the misfortune to be born or brought up elsewhere than in P.E.I. with a decidedly suspicious air. They MIGHT be good people, of course; but you were on the safe side in doubting it.

Mrs. Harrison nodded emphatically, despite having moved to P.E.I. from the mainland only a few years earlier. However, she was the only obstacle preventing her husband from living like a heathen, so perhaps she agreed from experience.

"Home is always best," said Jane philosophically. Whether she meant P.E.I. or her her new home on the mainland remained unclear. Nothing much perturbed Jane, but Gilbert was pleased to see that wealth had not ruined her common sense disposition.

Mrs. Harmon Andrews then turned the conversation to carriages. Apparently, despite being mother and daughter, Mrs. Harmon and Jane had arrived in separate buggies, Mrs. Harmon undoubtedly wishing to show off her visiting daughter's trim and fleet, top-of-the-line buggy, in addition to her own, of course.

Gilbert listened vaguely, his eyes lingering on Anne. She wore a dress of filmy green that brought out the ruddy tint of her hair, and she had tucked the lilies of the valley into the green sash around her waist. Gilbert felt almost lightheaded with admiration as he looked at her. He absently accepted a cup of tea and a scone from Marilla, who looked wryly at the besotted young man.

It was then that Jane reminded her mother of their subsequent engagement, and the two rose and were ushered out by Anne. Mrs. Lynde and Mrs. Harrison, however, seemed more established than ever in the parlor, and Gilbert despaired of having time alone with Anne. However, a quarter of an hour later, he and Anne extricated themselves from the gossips. Anne had announced she needed to deliver something to Diana, and Gilbert offered to walk her there. They set out jubilantly for Orchard Slope, a small package in Anne's hands.

"I thought you might have invented the 'delivery,'" said Gilbert.

"Oh, Gil," replied Anne. "You should know I wouldn't resort to artifice!"

"My apologies, madam," he said with a laugh, executing a courtly bow.

"But I know what you mean," Anne continued. "Mrs. Lynde's conversation is like pepper. Best in small amounts."

Gilbert laughed again. "Well I'm glad I got you to myself anyways."

Her grey eyes flicked up to his. "Me too."

"Would you like to go for an old time ramble later today?" Gilbert asked, his heart thumping. "We could go to Hester Gray's garden."

"Oh, it's been so long since I've seen her garden!" exclaimed Anne. "Has it changed very much?"

"I don't know exactly," Gilbert said uncomfortably. "I haven't walked there in a long while." It had reminded him too much of Anne to brave that ramble alone.

"Well, then we could find out together," she said with a smile, and Gilbert's heart rose.

"Shall I come by at four then?" he asked.

She nodded and smiled, and Gilbert grinned broadly. They arrived at Orchard Slope and Gilbert reluctantly left her at the front gate, with a tip of his hat.

He was a clumsy farmer for the rest of the day, pulling up potato vines instead of weeds, giving the slops to the chickens, and repairing the garden gate backwards. His mother laughed until she cried at the inoperable garden gate, and Gilbert blushed hotly as he pulled out the nails and started again, muttering under his breath. Mrs. Blythe took pity on him after that, insisting he relax and bathe before meeting Anne.

Rather than fill the tub with heated buckets of water, Gilbert grabbed some soap and a towel and headed to Barry's pond, where men and boys alike swam in the summer. The secluded corner of the pond devoted to swimming was already ariot with the splashing of several boys when Gilbert arrived. Grinning, he shucked off his work clothes and dove in. The youngest of the boys were leaping off the little dock there, cannonballing into the water.

Gilbert treaded water, hoping to catch sight of Fred. Unable to locate him, he sighed. It would have been nice to tell him about Anne, if he didn't already know from Diana. Fred was likely to be out in the fields this time of day anyway.

But no, there he was - Fred - executing a cannonball off the dock along with the younger boys. Gilbert burst out laughing and swam over with long, broad strokes.

"Didn't expect to see you here this time of day," said Gilbert with a grin, catching up to his friend.

"Thought I'd skip off for a bit," Fred grinned back. "It's hotter than a furnace out in the wheat fields." Fred did seem redder than usual, which was saying something.

"Yeah, I was useless today on the farm," Gilbert replied.

"I wonder if that had anything to do with the return of an unattached Anne the other day?" Fred said knowingly, unable to keep a teasing smile from spreading across his red face.

"Ah, so you do know."

"Diana told me this morning. She was so frazzled, I was worried she was calling off our engagement."

"She'd never do that, Fred," Gilbert insisted. "Diana can't wait to marry you."

"Thanks," Fred said bashfully. "Only one more year."

"I'm happy for you," Gilbert said wistfully.

"Maybe there's a wedding someday soon for you, too, Gil."

Gilbert blinked, before managing a brief nod, the thought too precious and precarious to put into words.

Promptly at four, Gilbert strode up to Green Gables, heart hammering, palms sweating. He was pleased and rather relieved to find Anne waiting for him on the front porch - anything to avoid another rendition of this morning's parlor of women. She rose gracefully to her feet and came to meet him on the step. They smiled shyly at one another and set off towards Hester Gray's garden. Conversation was stilted at first, but began to flow as they settled into their old camaraderie.

"My favorite class at Redmond was English Composition and Declamation," Anne was saying. "I kept thinking another class would replace it each semester, but none ever did."

"I'm not surprised," Gilbert replied. "You always loved writing. As for me, I've spent all my free time in medical tomes, but perhaps I shouldn't have. You begin to fear you have all kinds of afflictions when reading about medical conditions."

Anne laughed. "What did you think you had?"

"Oh, anything. Cranial hematoma when I had a headache. Blood clots when I had a leg cramp. Tuberculosis when I had a bloody nose…"

"Gil," said Anne, coming to a halt and grabbing his arm. "I'm so sorry about your father. And I'm so sorry for not being here when he passed."

"Oh," said Gilbert. "I know. Thank you for the card you sent. We're doing fine. It's been a year - now…" His voice cracked suddenly with emotion, and, to his horror, he felt himself choke up, tears filling his eyes. He hastily turned away from her, mortified that she should see him cry. "Sorry," he choked. "Don't know what's come over me."

"Please don't worry," she pleaded softly from behind him. "Not on my behalf." She began to rub his back soothingly, and he quivered at her touch, trying to hold back his grief. After a few minutes, he was able to compose himself, and he quickly dried his eyes with his handkerchief.

"Thanks, Anne," he said, embarrassed. His voice trembled, and he almost wanted to bolt into the woods and away from this humiliating episode.

As if she could sense his desire to escape, Anne looped her arm through his and started walking decisively onward.

"I feel like I've gone mad lately," Gilbert stammered.

"Why would you think that?" Anne asked curiously.

They arrived at Hester's Garden as Gilbert contemplated his answer. The garden spread out before them, a bounty of overgrown flowering bowers and June roses with a thick carpet of narcissus. Anne sighed happily and squeezed Gilbert's arm.

"I feel like I've gone mad because the world has tilted on its axis since you've returned, Anne," said Gilbert slowly.

Anne turned to look at him with her clear, grey eyes. His eyes held hers for a moment, before she looked down blushing.

"Then… then you know how I feel," she murmured.

A surge of hope and joy raced through Gilbert. Could it truly be? Neither of them able to speak further on the matter, they strolled slowly through the garden, arm in arm.

They found a grassy knoll to stretch out on and look up at the breezy clouds floating by above them. Gilbert glanced over at Anne, lying beside him, his heart hitching at her proximity. The breeze lifted strands of her red hair and blew them gently about her face. Before he realized it, Gilbert had reached over to tuck the loose strands behind her ear. A small smile tugged at her lips, and Gilbert's heart soared.

As they lay in the grass, hope fairly bursting within him, Gilbert recalled the first time he felt hope - the day Anne finally forgave him. Much like Anne's homecoming, he had lost all hope before gaining it all back in a rush. Her years-long grudge against his calling her 'carrots' at their first meeting even ended on a day such as this one, a summer afternoon filled with warm and blissful breezes.

He had been out in Harmon Andrews' dory, supposedly fishing, but mostly floating and enjoying the sunshine when he had spied a drenched and pitiful Anne clinging to the pilings under the bridge. Despite feeling a bit hurt over her begrudging acceptance of his rescue, he had marveled over her tenacity. He had rowed them to shore, Anne's nose in the air, haughty as could be, and his eyes averted from the way the wet dress clung to her lithe body, the white lace gown nearly transparent. His heart had beat rapidly, his face flushed with the thought of perhaps helping her dry off when they would reach the shore.

He should have realized his thoughts (and hormones) were running away from him, for Anne had leapt from the boat without assistance as the dory bumped against the water's edge. Nevertheless, such an opportunity was rare, and Gilbert had extended a handshake and repeated his plea for forgiveness.

Moments later, he had stormed away, enraged… and desperately hurt. Tears had streamed from his eyes to his frustration, and he had bitterly wished that he felt _nothing_ when it came to her…

Glancing over at Anne now as they lolled, cloud-gazing, in Hester Gray's garden, Gilbert grinned wryly at the thought of feeling nothing when it came to Anne. An impossible sentiment if there ever was one. Anne had always been a whirlwind in his life, then and now. He would never have dreamed that the day Anne rejected his apology at Barry's Pond would be the last day of their enmity.

They lingered in the garden as evening beckoned, their reignited comradeship naturally leading to debate. As darkness descended, Gilbert escorted Anne home in high spirits and fine fettle as they argued the merits of men in the kitchen, Gilbert for and Anne against. Anne was hard-pressed to defend her numerous kitchen mistakes and Gilbert sensed victory as they reached Avonlea. Their laughter preceded them as they approached the Green Gables porch, and they quickly sobered as Mrs. Lynde met them with an air of disapproval.

They bid adieu and made blushing retreats, neither of them noticing the pleased smirk that spread across the Avonlea matriarch's face.

* * *

A/N: My mom and I cracked up so much over Gilbert and Edie's interactions in this chapter. I hope you enjoyed it as much as we did! I'm rather proud of myself that I published this chapter so soon. ;)

Thank you for all the reviews and follows! I greatly appreciate it. You're the best!


	3. Dear Darling Ruby & Poor Old Matthew

A/N: There will be direct references from the Anne of Green Gables series in this chapter. I can't write it better than L.M herself! So I thought I'd put in a disclaimer here. I claim no credit to anything you may recognize from the Anne of Green Gables series. That's all the wonderful work of the amazing L.M. Montgomery.

Warning: Please be aware that this chapter contains potentially disturbing details.

* * *

Sunday church service was rife with rumors and consternation surrounding Anne's return. The rumors of her lack of engagement ring fueled the consternation as the reliable Mrs. Lynde was unhelpfully mute on the topic.

When Gilbert arrived with his mother, his presence added fuel to flame regarding the absence of Anne's fiance. Gilbert barely managed to avoid rolling his eyes at the whispers as he escorted his mother into the family pew. His indignation softened though, as he laid eyes on one of the chief gossipers, Ruby Gillis. Her delicate beauty had become more fragile as consumption consumed her. Thin and pale with startlingly rosy cheeks, Ruby's eyes still sparkled with thoughts of beaux and parties. She was dying far too young, and everyone knew it but the Gillises. A lump rose into Gilbert's throat.

The lump was there to stay as the Cuthberts arrived. Gilbert watched with dismay as Marilla and Anne guided a frail Matthew Cuthbert into their family pew. Even Davy Keith was subdued. The shy and reclusive Matthew had been having "heart spells" for the past several years, but he had managed to recover each time. The Cuthberts had been obliged to have a hired man for the farm work since his first spell just before Anne left for college.

Mr. Cuthbert must have had a bad spell very recently, because Gilbert could not recall seeing the man this ill at the previous week's services. Gilbert wondered why he had even come to church at all. But as Gilbert's eyes landed on Anne, he knew why. Matthew Cuthbert was doing his utmost to assure his beloved girl that all was fine. But from the thinly veiled distress on Anne's face, it wasn't working. Anne was so distracted that she was momentarily shocked when she finally noticed Ruby. She hastily assumed a natural manner, but Gilbert, who could not keep his eyes from Anne, took note, as well as a few others. Mrs. Lynde kindly wrapped an arm around Anne as she joined the Cuthbert pew, and Diana Barry turned around in her pew to give Anne's hand a squeeze.

The service was uneventful beyond the gossip mongers in the congregation readying themselves to pounce, and once the service was over, Gilbert guided his mother past the throng. He longed to go to Anne, but thought better of it, as the Cuthberts remained in their seats, waiting for others to pass. In the churchyard, the Blythes were swarmed by the Avonlea biddies eager to learn more straight from the source. Fred helpfully popped up at Gilbert's side to draw him away from the fuss.

"Diana's volunteered me to fetch the Cuthberts' wagon, and I figured you'd want to help," he told Gilbert.

"Thanks," grinned Gilbert, delighted. "You're the best, Fred. They didn't intend to stay and chat?"

"Naw," Fred replied. "Miss Cuthbert says she has something to tend to at home, but I wager it's because of Mr. Cuthbert. He's not looking well, is he?" Gilbert shook his head, his lips pressed together. "Will your Ma be alright?" Fred asked a bit worriedly, looking over at the swarm of middle-aged women.

"Yeah, she won't admit it, but she secretly loves the gossip," Gilbert assured him.

The young men located the wagon and gently led the Cuthberts' mare to the churchyard where they found the Cuthberts, Anne, the twins, and Mrs. Lynde awaiting them. Fred held the bridle while Gilbert bounded over to the folks to assist them. He was just about to speak, when Ruby swirled in, chattering excitedly.

"Oh, Anne, it is so wonderful to have you back!" she exclaimed, clasping Anne's hand with her own thin one. "We MUST catch up. PLEASE say you'll come to my party on Friday! Diana and Fred will go, and there'll be lots of dancing and young gentlemen!" She squealed happily, before lifting a lovely brow in Gilbert's direction. "And Gilbert will be going, too, won't you Gilbert?"

Before Gilbert could reply, she flounced away to calls of her name from the Gillises waiting by their buggy.

"Ta ta!" she called over her shoulder. "You had all better come!"

A startled moment of silence followed Ruby's departure, broken by Matthew, who turned to Anne and said softly, "Well, Anne, I guess you had better go to that party."

The group broke into nervous laughter, but Mrs. Lynde clucked disapprovingly.

"The last thing that girl needs is a party," said Mrs. Lynde. "What the Gillises should be doing is taking Ruby on the first train to Alberta."

"Oh, Marilla," sighed Anne passionately. " _Why_ didn't you say that Ruby was ill? Why didn't any of you?"

"I know I've mentioned her being ill in my letters," Marilla said matter of factly.

"But you made it sound as if she merely had a headcold, not…." Anne swallowed. "Not _this_."

"Those Gillises want to think it's a headcold," Mrs. Lynde muttered darkly. "And at this rate, they'll go on thinking it until her final day, poor girl."

At this, Anne stifled a sob.

"Come now, dearie," puffed Mrs. Lynde. "As the good Lord tells us, "one must be joyful in hope and patient in affliction."

"That makes sense," Davy mused at Anne's elbow. "What does God say about reading _non-flicktion_? I want to know."

"That's non- _fiction_ , Davy boy," Anne said kindly, suppressing a watery smile. "UH-ffliction is something else."

"Anne, be sensible and let's be off," said Marilla, rolling her eyes and ushering her and Matthew to the wagon.

Anne smiled sadly, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. "I'm afraid I've never been what anyone would call 'sensible.'"

"It's never too late to start," Marilla contributed wryly.

Anne's eyes met Gilbert's, and he could almost see her thoughts on her pale face. Tuberculosis brought death to too many.

It was at this moment that Josie Pye called loudly across the churchyard. "Anne! Oh, dear, leaving so soon? In tears? It won't do to be sad over being jilted! You must buck up, Annie!"

Anne flushed hotly. "I could strangle her sometimes!" she hissed under her breath, and Gilbert grinned. He silently helped her into the wagon along with the Cuthberts, Dora, and Mrs. Lynde.

"Thank you, gentlemen," Mrs. Lynde said magnanimously as she hoisted her considerable bulk onto the wagon seat.

Davy swung himself up beside Matthew with a loud whistle, nearly startling the placid mare. After a moment of soothing the poor horse, Fred glanced over at Diana, waiting by her family's buggy. "Have a nice day," he said to the wagon with a tip of his hat. "See ya, Blythe."

Gilbert also tipped his hat and farewelled. He watched the wagon as it rolled away, and just as he was about to return to his mother, Anne swiveled around to look back. Their eyes met again briefly before she blushed and turned away. Gilbert's heart thudded loudly as he walked across the churchyard to his mother. Before he could reach her, Josie caught his arm.

"Gil," she cooed. "I haven't seen you in _ages_."

"It's been a whole week," Gilbert said wryly, trying to slip free.

Josie tenaciously held onto him, saying, "Shall we go together to Ruby's party? You wouldn't want to go alone, would you?"

A momentary panic clutched Gilbert at the thought of going _anywhere_ with Josie, and he quickly lied, "Already spoken for, actually."

Josie released him, her face puckered. "With who?" she asked suspiciously.

Finally free, Gilbert made good use of it. "A good friend," he called over his shoulder as he hurried away, hoping Anne might accompany him to Ruby's party.

As it happened, Anne blushingly accepted Gilbert's stammered request a couple days later to escort her to Ruby's party, and so the two happily made their way to the Gillis home that Friday eve. It was awash with the Avonlea young folks talking and laughing and dancing. Ruby was the belle of the ball, resplendent in a gown of vivid red with matching painted lips that would have shocked the older generation had any been present.

It was a surprisingly riotous party for Avonlea, and Anne confessed to feeling overwhelmed as she danced a reel with Gilbert under the lantern-strung trees of the Gillis yard. Gilbert had noticed all eyes upon them as they spun and stomped, and he felt rather overwhelmed himself. As the reel ended, he led her to the row of chairs at the edge of the porch steps.

Anne sat with a sigh, her eyes on Ruby, who swirled and spun with her latest flame, a young man from Carmody.

"Is there anything to be done for her?" she asked, softly and sadly.

Gilbert swallowed. "I don't know," he replied slowly. "If only there was a cure."

"Would going to Alberta help?" Anne queried.

"Perhaps. But it might do nothing at all."

Silence fell between them, before Anne sighed again. Gilbert glanced at her, surprised to see her jaw clenched determinedly.

"I've notified the Summerside school district that I won't be accepting the high school principalship," she said. "That's… that had been my plan… to work there, but I can't. Not with Matthew… I can't leave him. I've been away too long."

"You were offered the principalship of Summerside High School?" Gilbert asked in amazement.

"Yes," said Anne uncomfortably. "But - oh don't you see, Gilbert? I left them behind! Matthew and Marilla, when I went to Redmond. They needed me then, and now they need me more than ever. I can't do it to them again. We fear… we fear Matthew… " Her voice broke. "Matthew… might not be long for this world."

She then burst into tears before a startled Gilbert. Before he had even blinked, Diana Barry swept in with Fred in tow.

"Anne!" Diana exclaimed, before adding soothingly, "Don't cry, Anne." She wrapped an arm around her friend and gently raised Anne to her feet. "It's alright. Why don't we go inside?"

She ushered Anne into the house, leaving behind Gilbert and Fred on the stoop.

"Well, it seemed to be going well for a little while," Fred said with a curious expression on his face. "What did you say to her?"

"Nothing," sighed Gilbert. "Unfortunately."

Anne didn't come back out for so long that Gilbert feared she didn't want to see him. He lingered by the punch bowl, avoiding dances and fretting. His mood was not improved by Charlie Sloane joining him in his punch bowl vigil. Charlie had the good fortune to have attended Redmond with Anne the past couple of years, but higher education had not reduced his Sloanishness in the slightest.

Charlie began a stream of pompous advisement on farming improvements that Gilbert could undertake to improve the Blythe fortune in the wake of Mr. John Blythe's 'pitiable demise.'

"I almost envy you, Gilbert," Charlie continued. "Farming is a noble endeavor for the masses."

For once in his life, a witty repartee did not come to Gilbert. He seethed inwardly, thinking things unlawful to put that goggle-eyed Sloane lump in his place. Thankfully, before any of these unpleasant thoughts could be put into action, Anne emerged from the Gillis house and made for Gilbert. Relieved, Gilbert nearly stumbled as he closed the distance between them. Anne's eyes were dry, although somewhat red and puffy from crying. Her gaze darted to Charlie with suspicion before she pleaded softly so only Gilbert could hear, "Will you please take me home?"

Gilbert was delighted to do so and hastily brushed past a sulky Sloane to get Anne and himself away as quickly as possible. They skirted the edge of the party and headed toward Green Gables via the Haunted Wood and Lover's Lane. In the privacy of the dark forest, they slowed to a stroll, Anne's glossy red head hanging forlornly.

"The luster of life has felt stripped away lately," she said softly. "Dear, darling Ruby…" Then so softly that Gilbert could scarcely hear her, "and beloved Matthew."

"Life is precious and… fleeting," Gilbert contributed softly.

"Too fleeting," Anne whispered.

In the weeks that followed, the joy of renewed dreams was tempered by sadness. Old-time rambles continued, but were few and far between as Anne devoted time to care for Matthew and visit with Ruby. Many an evening was spent by Anne at the Gillis home at Ruby's behest, but whether these visits did much good for either of them remained to be seen. Ruby was in unfailing high spirits, making plans for the future even as her health declined rapidly. Gilbert knew this firsthand in his own visits to Ruby. Her prattling joy regarding her summer wardrobe, her beaux, and her future plans wore Gilbert down as surely as Anne must feel as they watched the spectre of death relentlessly ignored at the Gillis household.

Matthew Cuthbert grew even more reclusive, no longer managing to attend the weekly church service. Anne attached herself to him in his reclusivity as primary caregiver. Marilla and Mrs. Rachel were seen to shake their heads as Anne absorbed every moment with the ailing man, even succumbing to the same spirited and fanciful speeches she witnessed with dismay at the Gillis home.

When she would finally be shooed out of Green Gables for a much needed reprieve, a ramble would happen, with walks to the red sandstone cliffs, the Fletcher strawberry patch, and Hester Gray's garden. As lovely and longed for as these walks with Anne were, they lacked the sense of adventure and excitement, weighed down with the fast-approaching and inevitable grief. Still Gilbert treasured these walks, and he sensed that Anne did, too.

The next official gathering of Avonlea young folks after Ruby's bash was the A.V.I.S. midsummer dance. Gilbert jubilantly escorted Anne, both setting aside their sadness to enjoy the evening. And, while light feet danced and bright eyes laughed and merry tongues chattered, there came a summons to a soul in Avonlea that might not be disregarded or evaded. The next morning, the news went from house to house that Ruby Gillis was dead. She had died in her sleep, the news said, lovely and peaceful.

Gilbert found Anne later that morning, sitting by the brook in the Haunted Wood, her arms wrapped around her knees, her eyes glistening with tears. He sat down and took her hand.

"Oh, Gilbert, how difficult it is to realize that one we have always known can really be dead," said Anne with a sigh. She gave his hand a squeeze. "At least her passing was calm and painless. She had feared death so. I like to think that Death came to her as a friend at last, welcoming her to the Great Beyond."

A shiver swept through Gilbert, and he clung to her hand, thinking of Dr. Spencer's visit to the Blythe home earlier. The doctor's many visits to the Blythes during the illness of Gilbert's father had developed a rapport between Gilbert and the good doctor. Dr. Spencer had freely lent his medical texts to the 'promising young man' and had enjoyed discussing diagnoses and procedures with him. That rapport and those discussions had continued after Mr. John Blythe's death, and the doctor had stopped by the Blythe home after his last vigil with Ruby Gillis.

The story of Ruby's peaceful death was just that, a story spread by the Gillis family. Ruby's death had been far from peaceful or painless. Even Dr. Spencer had been deeply shaken by the deathbed scene. Ruby had drowned in her own blood.

Gilbert could never tell Anne that. He would never want to shake that starry look in her eyes as she dreamed of Ruby's beautiful face in eternal sleep. He would never mar that with the grisly truth of Ruby coated in her own ruby-red blood.

Her funeral was as showy and stylish as she had been in life, and every bit as lovely as her purported death. The Gillises had spared no expense for their daughter's funeral, replete with a white velvet casket. Her loveliness, as she lay, white-clad, among the delicate flowers that Anne had placed about her, was remembered and talked of for years in Avonlea. Ruby had always been beautiful; but her beauty had been of the earth, earthy; it had had a certain insolent quality in it, as if it flaunted itself in the beholder's eye; spirit had never shone through it, intellect had never refined it. But her horrifying death had touched it and consecrated it, bringing out delicate modelings and purity of outline never seen before - doing what life and love and great sorrow and deep womanhood joys might have done for Ruby.

Gilbert, looking down at his old playfellow, thought he saw the face God had meant Ruby to have, and remembered it always.

Ruby's beau from Carmody was inconsolable, and one of her elder sisters dissolved into hysterics. It was a theatrical moment for most of Avonlea, enjoying the spectacle of a grand funeral, but chilling for Gilbert. He knew that Leah Gillis had been present at Ruby's horrendous death. For all those who knew the true circumstances, hysterics seemed an incredibly natural and inviting reaction.

When Mrs. Rachel Lynde declared emphatically that she had never seen such a beautiful corpse, a shaking and distraught Gilbert fled the Gillis home. He stumbled away toward the Haunted Wood, which felt appropriately haunted this day. It almost seemed as if he saw the ghost of Ruby swirling and spinning with a beau beneath the trees, dancing and flirting forever as she loved to do. He hurried onward until he reached the Blythe cow pasture. Leaning against a comforting and curious cow, Gilbert cried.

Later, as he walked to the Blythe farmhouse, his eyes red and puffy, he wished desperately that there was something he could do to end tuberculosis.

Matthew Cuthbert had his final heart spell only a week later. The news spread quickly through Avonlea, and folks thronged Green Gables on errands of kindness for the dead and living.

Gilbert had hastened to Green Gables, still in his work clothes, having heard the news while out in the fields from the Cuthbert's hired man, Jean-Michel. It was not until he was halfway there that he realized he still had a scythe clutched in his hand. Abandoning it in a place he hoped he could find again, he continued on, sweaty and dirty. He never did find that scythe for the look of anguish on Anne's face when he arrived at Green Gables erased it utterly from his mind. She let him draw her into his arms and hold her, still and silent. Their embrace shocked a good many friends and neighbors who witnessed it and fostered a temporary windstorm of gossip.

On the day of his funeral, Matthew Cuthbert lay in his coffin in the parlor, his long gray hair framing his placid face on which there was a kindly smile as if he slept, dreaming pleasant dreams. For the first time shy, quiet Matthew Cuthbert was a person of central importance; the white majesty of death had fallen on him and set him apart as one crowned. The funeral may have lacked the aplomb that Ruby's had, but there was an undeniable aura of a grand occasion. Perhaps it was because of Anne, both ethereal and austere in black lace, her face a tearless agony. Perhaps it was because of Marilla whose grief broke into an impassioned wave in front of all present, breaking all the bounds of natural reserve and lifelong habit in its stormy rush. Or perhaps it was because of Davy Keith, who - thwarted at having a 'Viking funeral' for his beloved guardian - burned a straw effigy in Harmon Andrews' dory. The flaming dory floating across the Lake of Shining Waters transfixed the stupefied mourners gathered at the nearby churchyard to lay Matthew Cuthbert to rest.

Davy's last tribute to Matthew became an Island-wide sensation, put in print by amused writers at the Charlottetown Guardian. Gilbert filched a copy from Fred Wright to take home to his mother and they both eagerly read the account of the funeral they had been present for.

"What an obituary… poor old Matthew," Edie sighed. She turned to her son, watching as he carefully folded up the newspaper. "I thought you were an unholy rabble-rouser, Gil, but I now stand corrected."

* * *

A/N: This chapter has disturbing elements, and I felt a bit concerned about going through with it. I hope you'll forgive me for Ruby's tragic end. It is definitely not holiday material so I thought it might be best to post it earlier, since I finished it sooner than expected. I am going to take a bit of a break from writing during the holidays, so the next chapter might not be published for a couple weeks. Thank you for reading and for all the lovely reviews. I treasure them! Thanks again, and I hope you have a wonderful holiday season.


	4. Inkblots & Tribulations

_Monsieur et Madame Dubois,_

 _J'esp_ _è_ _re que cette lettre vous trouve bien._ (The following has been translated from French). _It has been some time since we last corresponded, and I pray that you forgive me for that neglect. It has been a challenging year since my father's passing. We will never forget your generous and kind hearts as you helped first my father and I, and then later my mother, become accustomed to wilderness living. I returned to our Island so much more skilled and self-assured because of your life-sustaining lessons. I will forever be enriched by that knowledge you provided. We also can never forget your vigilance for our safety during the various upheavals there. My mother, in addition to myself, sends you our gratitude (and a pound of homemade toffee)._

 _I have heard of the growing antagonism to the French language in the Western Territories, and I hope that is not affecting your ability to remain living there. Do you fare well? How is your health? I cannot seem to imagine Alberta without the both of you, and I pray that you can continue your prairie cure for as long as you wish. Je vous envoie mes amicales pens_ _é_ _es._

 _Affectueusement,_

 _Gilbert Blythe_

 _Dear Sir,_

 _Congratulations on your well-received lecture at Montreal College of Medicine regarding the progression of pulmonary lesions from the Tuberculosis disease. I have a keen interest in the disease, as it has taken the life of my father, and, recently, a childhood friend. I have read the account of your lecture and your paper on the subject of these lesions, and I would like to inquire if there is any factor that leads a consumptive patient from displaying extrapulmonary symptoms to acute pulmonary lesions. My father died of the former, and my friend appeared likewise until she suddenly expired from the latter. I understand if you cannot reply, but I thought it couldn't hurt to inquire. Again, congratulations on your achievement and best of luck in your work._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Gilbert Blythe_

 _Dear Dr. Spencer,_

 _Thank you for loaning me your latest Montreal Medical Journal. You're right - Dr. Branston's paper regarding pulmonary lesions is an intriguing advancement over the great Ren_ _é_ _Laenec's work. I have copied out the article for myself, and I enclose the journal here to return it to you. I hope you will stop by again soon. Mother promises to have your favorite plum puffs for your next visit. There is also a jar of the famous Fletcher strawberry preserves waiting for you._

 _Best wishes,_

 _Gilbert Blythe_

 _Dear Dr. Blythe and Aunt Katherine,_

 _I hope this letter finds you well. My mother sends her regards. We miss you both, and we look forward to seeing you at the New Year. I wish to ask a medical question. As you know, my father died of extrapulmonary consumption. However, a dear friend of mine recently died from pulmonary consumption, although her symptoms up to her death had been extrapulmonary. Do you have any insights into how_

"Surely, that's enough letters for now," interrupted Edie Blythe, plunking down a large bowl of strawberries onto the kitchen table where Gilbert was writing. "You've sent nearly a dozen letters so far." She said, glancing over the scattered papers and the newly finished letters joining the outgoing pile. "Have a strawberry."

Gilbert rolled his eyes, but helped himself to several. It was late, the darkness held at bay by the bright kerosene lamp on the kitchen table and the glowing stove. Setting aside the letter to finish later, Gilbert rose and stretched, yawning. He began to gather up the assorted papers as his mother began deftly removing the strawberries' leaves and stems with a small kitchen knife.

"Now, don't think I don't know what you're up to, Gil," Edie said accusingly. Gilbert warily watched the knife she unwittingly was gesticulating with. "Studying all hours of the night, and then rising early for the chores? You need your rest, love."

Gilbert smiled ruefully. "Sorry, Ma. You know how I get when something seizes me."

"Something or _someone_?" Edie asked airily, returning to the strawberries.

Gilbert ignored her, stacking up his papers to carry up to his room. His hands full, he bent to kiss his mother's cheek.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, son," she replied with one eyebrow raised. "Do sleep, why don't you?"

"You're as bad as me!" Gilbert declared half in exasperation, half in amusement. "How much longer will you be up making jam? Hmm?"

"The strawberries will spoil if I don't," Edie answered with the air of one ordained to preserve strawberries any hour of the day or night. "And supposedly there's a jar of jam waiting for Dr. Spencer, hmm?"

Gilbert grinned. "Saw that, did you? Come on, Ma, one night won't spoil them. Let's go to bed."

"Oh, just go on and study then," Edie laughed. "We're both impossible."

He laughed with her and gave her another peck on the cheek. "'Night."

He carried his stack of papers up the stairs and into his bedroom, depositing them on his cluttered desk. Fumbling around, he located a match and lit the gaslamp he had on his desk. Then he sat with a sigh on the desk's old, rickety chair. With a wry smile at the sound of his mother puttering around the kitchen below, he pulled the stack of papers to him and began to write.

In the month after the passing of Ruby Gillis and Matthew Cuthbert, Anne had demurred from the old time rambles in order to throw herself head over heels into an elaborate mourning period. Anne did nothing by halves. She dyed her lovely gowns a somber black and wore her hair in a long, plain braid. Diana informed him that Anne never left Green Gables. Mrs. Rachel Lynde informed him that if Anne only added a hairshirt, she would officially become a Papist nun.

In response, Gilbert threw himself into farmwork and study, filling his hours with equal parts agriculture and medicine. When not in the fields, he pored over medical texts. A flurry of letters were sent out from the Blythe homestead, and Gilbert's desk became covered in copious notes and carefully drawn detailed diagrams of the respiratory system. His work-hardened hands became chronically splattered with ink from his late nights of industrious note-taking.

Never one to do anything by halves either, the farm suffered no neglect as Gilbert sowed oats, mended fences, harvested hay, picked plums, milked cows, made cheese, weeded the potato patch and kitchen garden, and delivered two calves and one litter of kittens.

One early evening, Gilbert tiredly approached the Blythe farmhouse after milking, the quintessential pail of milk carefully covered, the pail's handle held in his brown hand. The sun was approaching the horizon, and it cast a warm glow over the red sandstone doorstep where Edie and her sister, Mrs. George Fletcher, sat with their laps full of kittens. Gilbert smiled at the sweet tableau and accepted a proffered kitten from his mother. He sat down with a sigh, setting aside the pail of milk and cradling the small fluff of kitten in his hands. The sisters cuddled and fussed over the "itty wee sings," and Gilbert laughed under his breath at their chatter. Gilbert had two Aunt Katherines, one on each side of the family. While Aunt Katherine Blythe was not terribly fond of cats, Aunt Kitty Fletcher most definitely was, along with her identical twin sister, Edie.

"Oh Kitty, isn't this little tabby the darlingest wee kitty?" gushed Edie over the kitten in her hands.

"How can you say that when they're all the most precious wittle fluffy sings?" Kitty retorted in falsetto, scooping up three from her lap and bestowing liberal kisses.

The mother cat who had been enjoying the reprieve from her litter by laying on the door mat, eagerly trotted up to the milk pail beside Gilbert. He gently turned her away, and she petulantly stalked off a few feet away to glare at him.

Gilbert's Aunt Kitty and Uncle George lived in the farm next door to the Blythes, an oft-used path connecting the two farms. An enormous evergreen hedge, running east and west, separated the properties, but a doorway cut into the hedge made a pleasing arch to pass through. The back and forth beneath that arch was such that the families saw each other at least a few times a week. Uncle George and Aunt Kitty had been invaluable in the years of John Blythe's illness. Without them, the Blythes could have lost the farm.

"Gilbert, honey, have you given any more thought to your Uncle George's offer?" his Aunt Kitty asked, her voice slightly muffled as she buried her face into kitten fur.

Gilbert hesitated, stroking the kitten in his hands. His uncle had come by the day before and found Gilbert in the oat field. As they stood among the green baby stalks of oats, George Fletcher had clapped a work-hardened hand on Gilbert's back and offered to bequeath him the Fletcher land. A speechless Gilbert had been unable to reply, but George seemed to find that an appropriate response, and pleased, he had returned to his own farmwork.

Aunt Kitty and Uncle George were childless. Twin sisters Edie and Kitty seemed to suffer from the same affliction, one that made bringing children into the world a near impossibility. Both had grieved over miscarriages, stillbirths, and premature babies. Gilbert, himself premature, was the only child to survive. He had no cousins at all, as his father was an only child. His Uncle Dave was actually a great uncle, the brother of Gilbert's deceased grandfather. Being the only child of two family branches, he had been much doted on… and also much expected of.

The offer of the Fletcher land was not wholly a surprise. George Fletcher was a consummate farmer, born and raised on the land he now worked, and he had dreamed of his children tending the family land for untold generations further. The loss of his children broke his heart, and he had long eyed Gilbert as the family to continue his dreams.

Gilbert had nurtured other dreams than farming, and even though those dreams had long since been dashed, the thought of increasing the farmland under his purview sent a rising sensation of panic in his throat. It was a generous gift, the land, and a touching reflection of the love his Uncle George and Aunt Kitty felt for him. Gilbert knew he should feel grateful. The land would increase his standing in Avonlea and his ability to prosper, something that had felt especially intangible the last few years. Yet, even Aunt Kitty's question had seemed to cause his throat to close shut.

Hardly able to breathe, let alone speak, he pressed his face into the soft kitten fur of the tiny feline he held, much like his mother and sister were happily doing.

Sensing his distress, Edie spoke up. "Oh, Kitty, we were so agog over the offer. We're so incredibly blessed to have you and George in our lives."

"Pshaw," said Kitty, immensely pleased and blushing a bit. "Gilbert's such a good man, and we love him like he's our own. We couldn't possibly consider anyone else for the farmland."

Edie squeezed Kitty's elbow affectionately and leaned in to give her sister a kiss on the cheek. Age had altered the twin sisters enough to fairly easily tell them apart. However, when Gilbert had been small, their differences had been harder to determine, and he had scandalized Avonlea with his predisposition to refer to the sisters as 'Mama Edie' and 'Mama Kitty.' In the fading light of early evening, the sisters once again seemed nearly a mirror image, sitting together in their work frocks with their dark hair and hazel eyes.

Seeing them together so tenderly, Gilbert calmed the panic in his throat and found his voice. "It's too generous of you. I fear we won't be able to do the land justice, but we are honored to accept."

Edie smiled at him gently, nodding. They had been up half the night discussing the offer. Although sympathetic to Gilbert's qualms, Edie had been adamant that this was not an offer to be refused. They could not, logically, nor in good conscience, turn down an enviable and generous gift from family. This land was an investment at the very least, and a livelihood at the most. The land would be allotted to Gilbert steadily over time, as George gradually reduced his workload, and the Fletchers would remain on a sizeable portion of the property in their own home. Edie had also suggested that the timing of this offer had come about in an effort to help Gilbert woo a certain redhead. The Fletcher land would have come to him sooner or later, but with an unattached Anne back in Avonlea, SOONER might help Gilbert find happiness. Touched and overwhelmed, Gilbert agreed to accept.

Yet, as Aunt Kitty squealed with delight at his response and Edie joyfully began to laugh, Gilbert's heart sank.

The next few days passed slowly. Gilbert tended the oat field and began to harvest summer vegetables. With an eye on the approaching school year, Gilbert began to contemplate lesson plans, and his late-night note-taking started to include various learning ideas for his students. Teaching school and farming could be a challenge, especially during the fall harvest, so Gilbert traveled to Abbey Bank in Charlottetown to check their paltry savings to see if it would be possible to have a hired hand. Unfortunately, it would not be financially possible. As Gilbert walked back from the train station, he pondered how best to oversee the harvest of the oats, and then later, the apples that the Blythe farm was known for. It was likely he would need to again rely on his Uncle George and Aunt Kitty to get them through the harvest season.

Fiddling with his hat in his hands as he walked, Gilbert missed the first of the white papers blowing past him in the late summer breeze. Another couple papers fluttered past. When the next few pages arced by, he froze for a moment in confusion, before he leapt to snatch the nearest of them from the air.

"Oh! Oh!" squealed a frantic voice from behind him.

More pages raced past, some bound for the break in the trees leading to Barry's Pond. His hands clutching a few of the papers, Gilbert glanced back to see _Anne_ \- wild-eyed, desperately trying to corral a sheaf of loose papers in the lap of her black dress. Half-crawling, half-sitting, she scrambled to catch the pages fleeing her lap as the summer breeze grew to a gust. The pages heading toward the Lake of Shining Waters picked up speed.

"Oh, no!" shrieked Anne as several pages merrily flapped into the pond, alighting like a flock of white birds onto the water's surface.

Completely losing his head, Gilbert bolted to the pond and charged straight in. Knee-deep, he snatched at the floating papers, grabbing them all before looking back at Anne with a bewildered look on his face. Anne was still scrabbling about, grasping papers with one hand, her skirts clutched together with the other to form a rudimentary deposit for the loose pages. As she snatched the last one, she rushed to the pond's edge where she halted, staring at Gilbert with her pretty mouth hanging open.

"Gilbert! Where - _how_?" she spluttered.

He smiled ruefully at her and began to wade back to shore, his feet squelching in his best shoes. Anne, however, was barefoot and stocking-free, and Gilbert got an eyeful of long, shapely white legs as she held up her skirts. Hatless, her hair was somewhat tamed by a loose braid flung over her shoulder. Standing there on the bank in her disheveled state, Gilbert was reminded of the day he had rowed the unfortunate lily maid to shore.

As he squelched his way back to the pond's edge, Gilbert looked at the damp pages in his hands, noticing for the first time the scrawling writing covering the front and back of each page. The ink was running a bit from the short time in the water, but the pages were likely salvageable. Anne must be writing again. He eagerly began to read.

 _The farmer paused to study his reflection in shimmery surface of the pond. A face lined with wrinkles peered thoughtfully back at him._

"Thank you, Gilbert," Anne said hesitantly. He had reached her on the bank. Wanting to read more, he extended the pages a bit unwillingly. Anne gingerly accepted them, taking care to not damage the wet pages further. Gilbert noticed that her hands were splattered with ink, much like his own were.

"What is it you're writing, Anne?" Gilbert asked as he stepped out of the water.

"Oh, Gilbert, your shoes."

He looked down at the soggy, muddy mess his shoes now were and couldn't quite bring himself to shrug. He felt a pang of distress for their loss and chastised himself for his foolishness.

"No matter," he forced out, before sighing. "It's good to see you writing."

A shy smile crept across her face. "I thought I would write here to be inspired by nature. But that seems to have been an awful idea. I'm so sorry about your shoes."

Gilbert smiled in turn. "Eh, that's my own fault. I'm glad you're outside, though. I've… missed our walks. Perhaps you'd let me walk you home?"

"Perhaps I'd like you to come sit with me a bit," she said still smiling, but her chin trembled. She led him back to where she had been settled, a grassy knoll near the pond. He sat beside her and took off his shoes and socks to assess the damage, while Anne checked the pages gathered in the folds of her skirts. He realized that his eyes were lingering on her exposed calves and ankles and hastily looked away to wring out his socks. By the time he had managed to get his shoes and socks in some order, Anne had assembled the pages back into a stack and secured them with twine, until they resembled a package. The damp pages she pinned carefully together and slipped into a pocket. Her shoes and stockings lay beside her, but she made no move to put them on. Instead, she gazed out over the Lake of Shining Waters, her hands limp in her lap.

"Anne," Gilbert said softly, noticing her tears.

"It's only been a month," she said in a shaky voice. "Does it get any easier?" She turned to face him, tears streaming down her face.

"Some," Gilbert answered soberly, thinking of his father's death a year earlier. "And when it does, it's usually in the most unexpected of places."

"I'm hoping to find it in writing," Anne murmured shakily. She sighed. "And perhaps… if it is published, I could find a way out of this hole I've dug for myself."

Gilbert's eyebrows drew together in concern. "Whatever do you mean, Anne?"

"All I do is mistake after mistake." She stifled a sob.

At her cry, Gilbert sat up and knelt in front of her. "Anne," Gilbert said, grasping her gently by the shoulders and looking her in the eye. "You're not making any sense."

"I never do," she said with a sad smile.

He smiled back, hoping to cheer her. "Anne Shirley, you know you're renowned for your eloquence."

It was certainly true, Anne was known for her loquaciousness and love of diction and debate, but Gilbert's thoughts drifted back to another time she had struggled to express herself. He had already been reminded of the experience some minutes earlier as Anne stood on the edge of the pond, barely respectable with her skirts gathered above bare legs. Four years earlier, Anne had stood on the same shore, clothed in a drenched - and nearly transparent - white lace gown. When Gilbert had extended a handshake and repeated his plea for forgiveness and friendship, she had coldly said,

"No, I shall never be friends with you, Gilbert Blythe, and I will never forgive you!"

Tears had stung his eyes as he stormed away, abandoning the dory at the pond's edge and desperately hoping no one would see him as he fled for the Blythe home. Yet, he had not gotten very far from the pond before running footsteps caught up with him and a hand had tugged at his arm. Gilbert had turned to see a teary face that mirrored his own. Anne's lips had trembled, and she had seemed strangely unable to speak. But she placed her hand on his cheek, and Gilbert had frozen with surprise. How long they remained like that, he could not recall, but it repaired the years of bitterness without a single spoken word.

When her eloquence had returned, apologies followed, and Gilbert had easily forgiven her for being "such a little fool."

Now, four years later, Gilbert looked at Anne before him, thinking that perhaps touch should again surpass words. So he gently released her shoulders and raised his hands to her face. With his thumbs, he tenderly brushed away her tears, and then hesitated. His eyes dropped momentarily to her lips. He had not the courage for a kiss, nor was this the moment for one. Awkwardly, he drew away and sat again beside her, missing the wistfulness in her eyes.

They sat together quietly for some minutes more, before Gilbert walked her home. He was pensive after he left her at the Green Gables gate, his mind recalling that fateful day four years prior. Their reconciliation had blossomed into a sweetness, somewhere between friends and something more. But Anne left for Redmond before Gilbert had a chance to further that sweetness. Lost in his thoughts, he was startled to realize that he had arrived home as his mother's voice filled his ears.

"Gil - what's happened to your shoes?! Aren't they your best pair?"

Coming back to earth, he smiled ruefully. "A daring rescue, Ma, of the paper kind."

She stared at him, nonplussed.

He sighed. "It's alright, Ma. I'll patch and blacken my old brogues, if these can't be cleaned up."

"Is this something involving Anne?" Edie asked, her hands on her hips.

"She's writing again," he mumbled, unaware of Edie's delighted grin.

"Och, it's no matter," she declared brightly. "These will clean up nicely, I'm sure. And we should get you a new pair anyhow."

"Not before harvest," Gilbert said quickly, thinking of their accounts he had reviewed this morning.

"We'll figure something out," his mother assured him with a smile.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you had a wonderful holiday season. I've been doing a bit more reading than writing over the holidays, hence the delay. Thanks for your patience. This chapter feels special to me, and I hope you enjoyed it. It was wonderful inventing all these new details about Gilbert's life. Next chapter is a bit of a challenge, so bear with me!


	5. Anne Speaks

Anne filled Gilbert's thoughts as the summer slipped away and the richer colors of September sailed in. Autumn tended to be a stressful time for a farmer anxiously monitoring the fields for harvest readiness. God forbid that an early freeze or some other disaster befall a crop on the eve of its harvest. Despite the stress, Gilbert managed to find plenty of time to daydream about a spirited redhead, often becoming the brunt of jokes from family and friends at his uncharacteristic absentmindedness. Said family and friends largely consisted of George Fletcher and Fred Wright, who frequented the Blythe farm to help Gilbert and Edie with the workload for a share of the crop.

Gilbert marveled at his friend's willingness - nay, exuberance - to help with the farm in addition to working his own family's. Fred was a born farmer with a natural affinity for the labor and livestock. Gilbert found himself wistfully wishing he found the same joy in farming that Fred did. It seemed as though Fred felt _lucky_ to have additional farmwork. He grinned from ear to ear when he joined Gilbert in the fields, and he never seemed to tire as he helped Gilbert prepare for the Blythe harvest. Gilbert's Uncle George eyed Fred just as wistfully and remarked numerous times how proud his father, Abe Wright, must be to have such a strapping young farmer for a son. Fred was the epitome of George's dreams for his own children, and although George meant no slight to his nephew, Gilbert felt the pain of not being able to truly fulfill that role for his uncle.

Gilbert was grateful for the assistance of his uncle and friend, as his time was halved by school teaching. Much of his day was spent in the little Avonlea classroom, educating the next generation. A new crop of youngsters had joined the throng, and Gilbert found their apprehension to learning both endearing and frustrating. He strived to teach them the main curriculum as well as an impressive program of the latest math and science - in elementary form, of course. This method was partly so he could keep abreast of such discoveries, although he enjoyed seeing the awe (and skepticism) on the faces of his young charges while he taught them.

Since Gilbert's mad dash into the pond a month prior, he had been seeing more of Anne. Her intense mourning period appeared to have come to an end, although one could be forgiven for thinking it still continued as she was obliged to wear only black. (She now admitted to some recklessness in dying her whole wardrobe). However, her hair found its way back into elegant pompadours and chignons, and she no longer only kept to Green Gables. Gilbert renewed his entreaty for long walks, and the two of them ventured far and wide into Avonlea and its environs whenever either of them could be spared.

Having given up the principalship of Summerside High School, Anne filled her hours with writing and farming. Green Gables had a hired man, Jean-Michel, who had worked the farm for nearly a half decade as Matthew Cuthbert's health declined. Because of Matthew's poor health over the years, the farming at Green Gables had diminished, with land rented or sold, and crops reduced to smaller fields. But as anyone knew, farming was not truly a one-person job, and without paying work to occupy herself, Anne entered the fray.

Gilbert was both amused and concerned when Anne was too sore to walk after the first day of haying at Green Gables. She could hardly get out of bed, and Marilla had to rub liniment oil into her arms and legs and blistered hands. For all Anne had lived on a farm for the past decade, she had never truly _worked_ it. Her farm labor had consisted of various chores in caring for their few animals, which cannot compare to the strenuous labor of the fields. Even then, the last four years had largely been spent in college, where the most strenuous task was walking to class. She had not developed the strength that those who worked the fields gained over time. Gilbert and Fred had work-hardened bodies, taut and muscular. While Gilbert was quite lean (a source of endless worry for his mother), Fred had impressive heft. He was renowned amongst his farming friends for being able to lift the end of a wagon with one arm. Indeed, one of the reasons he successfully wooed Diana Barry was so that she could caress his biceps for the rest of her life.

Despite initial setbacks, Anne was determined to prove her worth and contribute to the Green Gables farm, so she painfully kept on as best she could. Jean-Michel was heard to remark about her _t_ _é_ _nacit_ _é_ _amusant_ , but he appreciated the assistance. Anne was more wont to complain about her vanity than her sore body. No matter how broad brimmed a hat she wore as she worked, the relentless sun was making itself known in the new and vivid freckles on her visage. There was one freckle in particular at the edge of her lips that caused her no end of frustration, but same said freckle was utterly mesmerizing to Gilbert. (The way it clung deliciously to her bottom lip as if it were a dot of chocolate seeking to be licked nearly undid him). Anne's hair also changed by its time in the sun. Even though her friends' descriptions of 'auburn' were more comforting than true, Anne's hair had indeed darkened over the years, but no longer. Her work in the fields lightened her hair into a fiery mane. She despaired that her hair resembled carrots more than ever, but truthfully it was a gorgeous display of strawberry and crimson to those who beheld it (even if they were unlikely to mention it).

Gilbert caught sight of her titian head as he came in from the potato fields one evening with his Uncle George, Fred, and his uncle's hired man, Pacifique Buote. Even Gilbert was sore from heaving the bushels of potatoes onto the wagon, and he painfully plodded along with his uncle's farm horse back to the Blythe house and barn. Fred, of course, seemed unfazed by the hard work and whistled cheerfully as they walked. They came upon Anne and Edie in the barnyard, and Gilbert immediately found that he was not quite so sore as he hastened to greet them. Behind his back, Uncle George and Fred exchanged knowing glances, and Pacifique said, "Dat boy, he just crazy abou' dat orange woman."

Unfortunately, his voice carried enough for Anne to catch the last of it, and she directed a steely-eyed glare at him, while George and Fred choked back laughs. Ignoring them, Gilbert bounded up to the ladies and removed his straw hat politely.

"I invited Anne to bring the twins over to play with the kittens," said Edie with a significant look at Gilbert. At her words, Gilbert finally noticed Davy and Dora scampering about the edges of the barnyard looking for and chasing after the wayward kittens.

"That's good," he said smiling. "Fancy an evening walk, Anne? Or perhaps you and the twins would like to stay for supper?" He curiously watched as Anne dodged his eyes, looking away from him as she struggled to formulate a response. It was then he realized the significance of his mother's look. He was covered in dirt from digging up potatoes, but more pressingly, he was without a shirt. Actually, Pacifique was the only one of the men with a shirt, and Anne's glance darted to Fred's red torso and Uncle George's potbelly before averting her eyes with a blush.

"Forgive me, Anne," Gilbert said sheepishly. "I'll wash up and meet you inside."

"And do please stay for supper, Anne," Edie encouraged as she ushered her towards the house. "We'd love to have you and the twins."

Gilbert washed up at high speed at the pump, dodging good-natured elbow jabs from Fred. His uncle and Pacifique departed for the Fletcher farm with thanks from Gilbert. Fred lingered after washing up, wanting to catch Gilbert alone.

"So, when are you going to ask her, Gil?" Fred asked as he pulled on the clean shirt he had left behind.

Gilbert froze for a moment, unable to speak. He smoothed down his own shirt, tucking it in. "I don't know, Fred," he said slowly. He rubbed the back of his neck, damp from slicking back his curls. "I don't know what I'm doing."

Fred looked at him with some concern. "What do you mean? You do want to marry her, don't you?"

"More than anything," Gilbert said softly. "It's just…"

"Just what? You shouldn't wait forever."

"It's just… she refused that Kingsport man, and he could have offered her the world. I can't compete with that."

"Gil," Fred said firmly. "You don't really believe that Anne refused Roy Gardener because he wasn't rich enough, right? The same girl that is out in the fields at Green Gables working her hands raw?"

Gilbert's heart sputtered a bit. "Well, I don't know…"

Fred rolled his eyes. "Well, _I_ know that she would be lucky to be your wife. Ask her, Gil." He clapped a hand on Gilbert's shoulder before heading toward the road to walk home.

Gilbert watched him go, then shouted after him, "What do you know?"

Fred turned around, but just gave a bright smile. "Good luck!" he called back.

Any ideas of romance were quashed at the supper table with the exuberant Davy in attendance. Having fully rebounded from his punishment after his last tribute to Matthew Cuthbert, Davy was in high spirits. (For those who wondered, Davy's punishment largely consisted of cuffs to the ear by the various men who jumped into the pond to put out the fire, one night without supper, no jam or dessert for a month, and one walloping spank from Mrs. Lynde when Marilla was away). While Dora was prim and quiet enough to be nearly forgotten, Davy most certainly was not. Anne struggled to rein the ten-year-old boy in, and she descended into a shocked and red-faced silence as he began to tell them about what happened when Milty Boulter's prize marble fell into the privy. Gilbert intervened with a schoolmaster's authority (smothering a laugh), but Anne was less amused. She hustled the twins out the door before dessert, and, loathe to miss an opportunity to walk anywhere with Anne, Gilbert hastened after them.

Anne seemed to relax on the moonlit walk back to Green Gables. When they arrived, she sent the twins on to the house while she lingered at the gate with Gilbert.

"Come for a stroll with me," Gilbert coaxed.

"What if Mrs. Lynde saw?" asked Anne in mock dismay.

"Then don't let her see," Gilbert teased back.

He impulsively grabbed her hand as they wandered away from the gate, and his heart leapt at the way she blushed and smiled at his touch. They meandered through Lover's Lane and paused when they reached Barry's Pond. Finding a spot cushioned with soft grasses, they sat and looked out at the moon reflected on the water.

It was peaceful in the moonlight. Crickets chirped, frogs croaked, and a breeze blew the grasses and cattails and sent ripples across the pond. Anne's hand was still clasped in his, and he took the liberty to caress her fingers, noting the blisters that now graced them. He stole a glance at Anne and was surprised to see that she was looking at his face with an intensity that surprised him. He cautiously locked eyes with hers, and then he could not look away as she leaned toward him. His heartbeat ratcheted its way into his throat, and he could hear his blood pounding in his ears as she placed her hands on his cheeks. Nearly nose to nose, her grey eyes gazed into his.

The thrill of the unknown swept through him. One never knew with Anne.

Just as he was thinking of closing the distance between their lips, Anne slowly drew away. As his heart sank, she swiftly swept in and kissed his cheek, before looking away, blushing. His heartbeat returned _en force_. In his mind's eye, he saw himself caress her jaw with his finger and guide her face back towards his. He would kiss her tenderly.

But his courage failed him, and silence fell between them, her eyes not meeting his. With a sudden jerky movement that startled him, Anne yanked at the hairpins that bound her chignon. Her hair flowed loose, messily blowing about in the wind. She tucked her legs and feet beneath her black skirts and stared moodily out at the Lake of Shining Waters.

"You look tired," said Anne, somewhat unkindly.

Confused at this rapid change in temperament, Gilbert decided to be blunt in turn. "I am."

An unpleasant silence descended, one that lingered on the edge of an argument. Watching the strands of her red hair billowing in the wind, Gilbert felt a pain in his heart as a sadness stole over him. Their ramble did not return to the lighthearted and tantalizing nature it had been, and soon Gilbert returned her to Green Gables, both of them silent and tense. As Gilbert walked home, he dwelt on the peculiar evening. He could guess the source of Anne's frustration, yet he could not fully bring himself to address it. The futility of his circumstances seemed too constraining for him to dive in as he longed to do. Entering the house through the kitchen door, he came upon his mother peeling potatoes at the table.

"Gilbert John Blythe, when are you going to finally ask that young woman to marry you?"

Just like he had earlier with Fred, Gilbert froze with surprise.

"Ma… " he began a bit helplessly.

She raised her eyebrows questioningly at him and set down the potato and peeler.

"It's just…." Gilbert sighed. "I know." He heaved another sigh and sat at the kitchen table.

"It's been months since she returned home, Gil," Edie began. "You've been finally given a chance at happiness. Don't be afraid to take it."

Gilbert ran his hands through his hair, then rubbed his temples. "Will she really be better off with me, though, Ma? We've been eating potatoes for days. I don't have money for new shoes, let alone a ring. I am only able to manage this farm through the generosity of our friends and family. We even borrow a horse for God's sake!"

"Language!" chided Edie.

"How can I support a wife or - or a family," Gilbert said passionately, his ears reddening, "if I can't even support you and me?"

Edie's expression hardened. "Gilbert, listen to me, you've been dealt a tough hand, and you deserve so much more. Now, a dream of yours is knocking at the door. You finally have the opportunity to decide. But would you really turn away such a possibility?"

"I just want what's best for her, Ma," Gilbert pleaded.

Edie smiled. "Spoken like a good husband. But, Gilbert, can you at least let Anne decide what's best for her?"

Later that night, Gilbert lay awake thinking. Summoning his courage, he began to formulate a plan. He would ask Anne to marry him… after harvest. There would be some money then, and he could procure a ring. He could not afford a new or even used ring, but perhaps he could have one made from something he already had. He tried to think of anything precious the Blythe house held. His mother's baubles had long since been pawned for doctor's bills. Perhaps one of the pewter goblets on the parlor mantle? Then Gilbert remembered the silver spoon that had been gifted to the Blythes on the occasion of his first birthday from his Aunt Katherine and Dr. Dave. It was Sterling silver… and somewhere in his room. Getting up, he began to rifle through the papers and minutiae cluttered into his desk drawers. Next, he dug around the boxes shoved under his bed. With a cry of delight, he held aloft the silver spoon. It was certainly tarnished, but that could be polished away. By the light of the moon, he squinted to read the engraving, _Gilbert John Blythe 'Joy cometh in the morning.'_ With a half-smile, he carefully set the spoon on his desk. Crawling back into bed, he felt a blossoming happiness within him.

For once, Gilbert faced the prospect of harvesting with excitement. The oat field and apple orchard were all that lay between him and the securing of Anne's hand in marriage. That is, if she said yes. Gilbert was painfully aware of the shortcomings of his proposal, but his mother was right. It was a decision that Anne needed to make for herself, not one Gilbert needed to protect her from. If he was fortunate enough for her to say yes, then, well, he would spend the rest of his life doing everything possible to prevent her from regretting it.

Gilbert eagerly surveyed the oat crop the next afternoon. He ran his hands through the golden stalks and picked a few. Cracking the kernels, he studied the oats within for ripeness. School had been pleasant earlier that day, and when Dora placed a basket of cookies on his desk "with regards from Miss Shirley," Gilbert felt that the misunderstanding from the night before had been resolved.

He smiled at the texture of the oats and popped a few in his mouth to taste. Fred, standing beside him, did the same.

"Ready, I reckon," said Fred with a grin. "How, I have no idea. I swear I sowed our oats a week afore you did, and ours are still rather green."

Gilbert grinned back. "Perhaps I still have some luckiness," he said, thinking of the silver spoon. It took him a moment to see that Fred's mouth was hanging slack.

"You proposed, didn't you!" Fred exclaimed suddenly. "I knew you would!"

"What?" Gilbert said, startled. "No, no, I haven't."

Fred's face morphed from delight to disapproval.

"But I will," Gilbert reassured him. "As soon as the oats and apples go to market, and I can have a ring made."

Fred eyed him skeptically, but a growing smile removed his doubt. "That's wonderful, Gil. About time!"

Both immersed themselves into the oat field, cutting the long, golden grass with cradles. Edie and Aunt Kitty followed along to bind and stack the sheared stalks. Working together, they managed to cut and stack a good portion of the field. Uncle George and Pacifique came by in the evening as Fred left, and the Fletcher wagon was loaded with the stacks to be stored and dried in the grain shed. As the wagon trundled to the shed in the darkness, the sisters chatted and laughed from where they sat on the wagon.

"Chipper as songbirds, those two," Uncle George said with a gruff laugh to Gilbert, walking beside him.

"Gilbert, dear, Kitty has the most marvelous idea!" exclaimed Edie.

"Have you?" he asked with a smile, rubbing his sore shoulder.

"An apple picking party!" Aunt Kitty squealed.

"I don't know why we didn't think of it before," Edie chimed in. "This farm used to host an annual apple picking, back when your father was a lad. It would be a wonderful time and easy labor! What do you say?"

Gilbert perked up with a grin. It would be another opportunity to dance with Anne, and it would bring harvest to a swift and festive end. "Aunt Kitty, you're a genius."

"How does next Friday sound?" his mother and Edie chorused in unison.

"Can't come soon enough," Gilbert enthused.

"I can let the Ladies Aid know at our meeting," said Edie, "and we can spread the word at church this weekend. It'll be a family event!"

"Dis party better have the Buotes!" said Pacifique.

"It wouldn't be a family event without you," George affirmed with a hearty clap on his hired man's shoulder.

The Blythes, the Fletchers, and Pacifique laid out a plan for the festivities that night over a late supper, and Gilbert left for the schoolhouse the next morning with a spring in his step. His cheerful eagerness had not abated after school had ended, and he hurried to ready himself for the oat field. He was just leaving the house with his mother in tow, when he nearly collided with Anne, who was walking up the porch steps.

"Anne!" Gilbert exclaimed in surprise as Anne gave a cry of alarm, teetering on the step. He grasped her arms to steady her.

"I'm sorry," she gasped. "It looks as though you're in a hurry to be somewhere. I'll come by another time."

"No, no," Edie insisted, coming up behind them with a grin. "It's no matter. Run along, you two."

"Perhaps I should change," Gilbert said hesitantly, taking in the definite attention to detail in Anne's appearance. Her dress was as black as ever, but it was a lovely light material and cut that spoke of elegant affairs. Her hair was drawn into an intricate coronet about her head and bound with starflowers. A nosegay of white violets was tucked into her sash.

"No, that's alright," Anne said, a bit hesitant herself, observing Gilbert's work trousers, faded linen shirt and dusty boots. "You don't have to. I was thinking we could walk to Hester Gray's garden. I have a chocolate cake in here." She lifted her arm, which was laden with a picnic basket.

Edie vanished, although her disappearance was hardly noticed by Anne and Gilbert, who had eyes only for each other. Gilbert took the picnic basket from Anne, and the two set off on the long walk to Hester Gray's garden. Anne seemed nervous as they walked, and Gilbert tried to put her at ease with conversation.

"Anne, we're hosting an apple picking party next week."

"Truly? How delightful!" exclaimed Anne, relaxing somewhat.

"Yes, I hope all of Green Gables will come," said Gilbert with a smile. "Mother and Aunt Kitty are inviting nearly all of Avonlea, even the Pyes."

"I suppose it takes all types of people to have a party," said Anne wryly.

Conversation grew stilted as Anne tensed up again when they arrived at the garden. A blanket of pale gold leaves led the way to the old stone bench in the garden's center, where more lavender asters greeted them. They brushed past tangly vines adorned with autumn roses, and Gilbert paused to pluck one.

"A rose for a rose?" he said, handing it to her.

Gilbert thrilled to see the blush that suffused her cheeks. The pink of her cheeks was very becoming, Gilbert thought to himself, and he marveled how anyone could think that pink clashed with red hair.

"'A rose by any other name would smell as sweet,'" Anne quoted softly, and Gilbert's heart began to pound. His eyes drifted to the delicious freckle at the edge of her lip, and he was struck with an overwhelming urge to taste it.

"Gilbert, I… well, that is… " Anne began to say.

"Yes?" Gilbert asked distractedly.

"There's something… something I'd like to confess to you - or rather, I mean… confide - to you."

"Oh?" Gilbert encouraged, his attention captured.

"Yes," said Anne. She stopped and pulled him to the stone bench where they both sat down. "These past few months have been a trial for me, Gil. With Matthew's… passing, and Ruby… " She struggled for composure, as her eyes welled with tears. Gilbert hastily provided a handkerchief from his pocket.

"Thank you," she murmured, drying the tears on her cheeks, while more quickly replaced them. "It has been so dreadful, and a terrible reminder of our temporal nature. I have been reflecting on my own life, and I just see so many faults. I have wasted so much time."

"Surely you don't mean that, Anne," Gilbert insisted, rather troubled. "How so?"

"Truly?" asked Anne. "You wouldn't think I wasted five years begrudging your friendship? Or wasted four years away from a family who needed me? I will never get another chance to spend time with Matthew again."

Gilbert hesitated, thinking. It was true, he did wish there had not been five years lost between them. But the latter was certainly false. "Anne," he said softly and squeezed her hand. "We can't change the past, and I guarantee you that your family does not regret you going to college. Matthew, especially, was proud as punch of his girl getting a B.A. You know that."

Anne sighed, looking down at their clasped hands. "Yes, I suppose so," she said quietly. "It doesn't change the regret I feel." She squared her shoulders as though steeling herself. "The past cannot be altered… but the future can."

Curious, Gilbert watched her posture and the tilt of her chin as it rose. She spoke up with a fairly strong voice. "Do you recall when you found me in the woods when I first returned to Avonlea? When I was, well I was… "

"Dancing?" prompted Gilbert with a teasing smile.

Anne blushed. "And you were surprised to learn that I was not engaged to Roy?"

Gilbert's smile faded. "Yes," he replied, more soberly.

"You had wondered why I refused him," said Anne.

"Yes…" Gilbert said cautiously. His hand stilled in hers.

Anne took a deep breath, then said, "I refused him, because I realized that he didn't belong in my life. I realized that I didn't love him."

Gilbert froze, unsure what to say or do. The thudding of his heart filled him to the brim.

"Gilbert." Anne turned toward him, grasping his hand more tightly. "He didn't belong in my life, but… " Her voice grew shaky. "But I think you do." She drew in another deep breath. Her cheeks reddened. "I didn't love Roy, because I realized that I have always been in love… with you."

Before Gilbert could even process this monumental revelation, she gazed up at him imploringly.

"Would you, that is, would you promise… to marry me?"

* * *

A/N: How many of you Anne-girls recognized the significance of the chapter title? ;)

I know this is a wild departure from canon and from historical and contemporary culture… but I just had to do it. I hope you love it, and if not, bear with me? Shocking (or cringe-worthy) marriage proposals are rather modus operandi for the books, right?

Thank you for your patience in how long it took me to post this chapter! You may have noticed the rating has been changed. I received some great advice and decided to heed it. Thank you guest:wow and MrsVonTrapp! The new rating won't change the path of the story.

Next chapter should hopefully be posted sooner, and it is all about the ramifications of such a bold proposal…


	6. All's Fair in Love and War

All thought escaped Gilbert's mind.

"Did you really just ask…"

Anne's cheeks, already red, darkened considerably, the flush extending to her hairline.

"Yes - yes," she stammered. She looked up at him hesitantly… expectantly.

"Did my mother put you up to this?"

Anne frowned and slowly sat back. "I beg your pardon?"

"You are truly asking me to marry you?" Gilbert asked wildly, trying to find some way to comprehend what had just occurred.

"Yes," Anne confirmed, her eyes filled with distress… and hope.

Gilbert leapt to his feet and began to pace. He suddenly halted and turned to her. "You're in love with me?" he questioned in disbelief.

"I've always been in love with you," Anne said firmly, yet her hands twisted nervously in her lap. The rose Gilbert had plucked for her fell unheeded to the ground.

Gilbert began to pace again, and a cold dread stole over Anne.

"Do you love me in return?" she asked. Her voice trembled.

Gilbert stopped again to look at her incredulously. "You have my love, Anne! You'll have it until my dying day! I'm just - _reeling_."

A tense silence fell, Anne stiff and cold on the stone bench, Gilbert heated and frenetic in front of her.

"I nearly lost my courage in asking you," Anne said coldly, breaking the silence.

"Well, maybe you should have!" Gilbert exclaimed. "You couldn't trust that I might have a plan for us?"

"What plan?" Anne hissed. "Chastising me? When I've offered you my life and _love_?"

"When did you realize that you didn't love Roy?" Gilbert asked rashly.

"What does that have to do with this?" Anne asked fiercely.

"Well, you're the one who brought it up!" He gestured at her. "In your _proposal_."

Anne's heart dropped like a stone. Gilbert, caught up in his own reaction, was unaware of the devastation that crossed her face.

"You realized it in the moment he proposed to you, didn't you?" Gilbert said, realization dawning on his face. He stopped pacing. "Damn, I almost feel sorry for the man. Loving one man whilst courting another."

"Stop, Gilbert!" Anne cried, jumping to her feet. She shook her head rapidly back and forth, utterly distressed. "Please, no more! I wasted two years of that poor man's life!"

Gilbert gave a hysterical laugh. " _Poor_ man?"

Anne went white. She stood stockstill for a moment, absorbing the terrible outcome of her confession and proposal. Then, almost as though she was dreaming, she gently dusted off the front of her dress and walked away. It took Gilbert a moment to realize that Anne was leaving him in the garden.

"Anne!"

She ignored him and continued to walk onward, the picnic basket left behind. Sheer terror suddenly gripped Gilbert as the circumstances of what had just occurred doused him like a bucket of ice water. Anne had _proposed_ , and, in his shock, he had reacted badly, so badly that he had hurt the one person he hoped never to give cause to regret. He hastened after her in desperation.

"Anne, stop! Please! I'm so sorry! I don't know what came over me!"

He caught up to her and touched her arm. She flinched away and swept around to face him, her eyes flashing.

"Anne, forgive me," Gilbert said, his voice shaking. He trembled like a leaf. He fell to his knees in front her, in part due to the shakiness of his own legs. "I love you. Yes, yes, I'll marry you. It's all I want."

"Well, I revoke my offer," Anne replied in a dangerous voice. Suddenly, she heaved a sob, her voice breaking. "You aren't the man I thought you were."

She then turned and ran from him. Rooted to the spot, Gilbert remained on his knees, staring after her in abject distress. A ghostly shiver of horror swept over his skin. He had to be dreaming this nightmare. He would wake up, and all would be well.

But no, there was Anne fleeing from him, with all his hopes and all his dreams. And it was all his fault.

He rose unsteadily, eyes wide and staring. His mind was a whorl of shame, guilt, and heartbreak. Should he follow? Should he beg? He would. But if he knew anything about Anne, she was loathe to forgive.

How long he stood there, he could not say, but he eventually recalled the abandoned picnic basket. He stumbled back to Hester Gray's garden in a daze, thinking he could perhaps return the basket to Green Gables and gain an opportunity to grovel before Anne. Perhaps there was still some hope…

The basket was on the ground near the stone bench with the fallen rose beside it. He reached to recover it as well and hissed with pain as a thorn cut him. Cradling the rose and ignoring his bleeding thumb, he turned his attention to the picnic basket. Upon opening it, he saw the chocolate cake within, beautifully frosted and topped with sugared plums. Tears welled in his eyes, and he thought of her plan to propose to him with a cake in a garden filled with the ghosts of romance and love. Carefully, he placed the rose beside the small plates and silverware tucked into the basket. Holding the basket gently, he made his way toward Green Gables, hoping against hope and berating himself every step of the way.

He expected to be turned away when he arrived, and sure enough, a stone faced Marilla was waiting for him. Sunset was at hand, and she cast a long shadow as she walked towards him. She met him at the gate, preventing him from approaching the house. His already aching heart gave a painful twist at the severity in her eyes.

"Gilbert," she said curtly, crossing her arms.

"Miss Cuthbert," Gilbert said softly.

"I can't let you see Anne," Marilla said. She then added, "She is distraught, and I can guess that it has something to do with her notion to propose to you."

Gilbert lowered his head in anguish. "I love her, Miss Cuthbert."

Marilla pursed her lips. "I imagine so, although it would be reasonable to question that." She shook her head slowly. "I have often thought of you as a better version of your father, but you're more like him than I expected. He broke my heart, too."

Shock coursed through Gilbert, and his mouth opened and closed wordlessly. He stumbled back a step.

"I'm going to ask you to go home, Gilbert," said Marilla firmly. "We'll see what tomorrow will bring."

Somehow, Gilbert nodded. He set the basket down at her feet and backed away. Slowly, he walked home as darkness gathered, his thoughts an agony of lost hope. When he came in through the kitchen door, his mother rose from the table where she had been preparing supper. The kitchen was strangely dim, thought Gilbert.

"Gilbert! Gilbert?" his mother queried anxiously. "My God!" She rushed to him as he swayed. He felt her grasp his arm just as he keeled over, and the world went blissfully dark and silent.

Gilbert was senseless only for a few moments, and his eyelids fluttered as he quickly regained consciousness. He breathed in sharply as the kitchen swung into focus and he tried to scramble to his feet.

"Don't get up, Gilbert," Edie said firmly from where she knelt beside him. She pressed a hand to his forehead. "You walked in white as a sheet and then collapsed. Get your bearings for a moment."

The gaslamp shone brightly on the kitchen table, and the stove glowed with a welcome warmth. Gilbert shivered a bit as his mother pressed a cool cloth to his forehead.

"You're all clammy," she scolded. "This is what comes from not eating enough. I know you're walking on air around Anne, but you need to come down to earth sometimes."

Gilbert's face twisted with pain at the mention of Anne, and Edie noticed and paused her ministrations. Momentarily free, Gilbert hastily rose, grasping the table edge to steady himself as the blood rushed to his head. Edie scrambled to her feet to stand beside him.

"Careful!" she exclaimed, trying to support him. "Has something happened with you and Anne?" she added worriedly.

Embarrassed, Gilbert gently rebuffed her attentions as tears came to his eyes.

"Gilbert?" she asked softly. "What has happened with Anne?"

A few more tears squeezed out of the corners of Gilbert's eyes, despite his efforts to restrain them.

"Gilbert?" Edie pressed.

"I've ruined everything," Gilbert said thickly.

Edie listened with wide eyes as he relayed what had occurred.

"Oh, Gilbert," she said, dismayed. She sank into one of the chairs with a dazed look on her face.

"I've broken her heart," Gilbert said in distress. "And mine, too." He also sat down and put his head in his hands.

"I think we need tea," said Edie, still dazed. She rose and poured water into the tea kettle.

"What did Marilla mean, Ma?" Gilbert asked slowly. "How did Dad break her heart?"

Edie paused for a moment, before placing the kettle on the stove. She turned around to face her son. "I don't know, Gilbert… I knew they were sweethearts once, a few years before he courted me." She sighed, her eyebrows drawn together in thought. "He said it was a misunderstanding. It was a sore subject for him, so I let it go."

Gilbert rubbed his eyes. A hollow feeling grew within him.

"It was wrong of Marilla to say such a thing," said Edie firmly.

"No, Ma," Gilbert said, shaking his head. "She's protecting Anne." He heaved a sigh. "And she was right that it's my fault Anne is distraught. I behaved abominably."

Edie sat back down and pursed her lips in worry. "What are you going to do now?"

"Write," said Gilbert.

 _Dear Anne,_

 _I fell in love with you the moment you cracked a slate over my head. I have been in love with you ever since, and even 'love' seems insufficient a word when it comes to what I feel for you. I have been afraid to confess the depth of my feelings for you, afraid to learn if you love me, afraid to ask to be yours. I was afraid, in part, that you would not feel likewise, and I preferred to dwell in the possibility of your love rather than knowledge of its falsity. However, I must also confess that part of my fear was that my love might be requited. I am only a poor farmer and school teacher, Anne. There will be no diamond sunbursts or marble halls with me. Far from it. Instead there will be potatoes and patched clothes and debt. There was one time that I thought my life could be more, but I am now certain that my life will not change. This life, and its circumstances, is all I have to offer you. However, I could not help beginning to hope for a life with you when you returned from Redmond unengaged. It took me some time, but I decided that I would try to seek your hand regardless of my circumstances. I had only begun to plan for how I might propose when you did. All my insecurities came rushing back with your dear, loving words. Words that I had dreamed of, but not believed in. It was too incredible for me to comprehend, and I became the worst version of myself, a bitter coward. I hurt you, the woman I love, and I cannot apologize enough. I am so sorry, Anne. I doubt there is forgiveness for me, and I accept that. I am a fool, and I tend to be at my most foolish when it comes to you. I know there is now little hope for a future with you, but if there is a second chance for me, I will not hesitate like I did before. I will leap for it, my love. How I have longed to call you my love, and how I have shied from it! I know I have likely forfeited that right before even gaining the opportunity for you to be mine. Forgive my forwardness. You are so intelligent, fascinating, beautiful, humorous, and you have entranced me from that fateful moment with the slate. You are so wonderful, Anne, and you deserve all the world has to offer. I am deeply and profoundly affected that you asked me to marry you, and I am desperately sorry for how I hurt you. If it is in your heart to forgive me and start anew, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. If not, I shall love you from afar._

 _Love,_

 _Gilbert_

There was no sleep for Gilbert that night. After several drafts of the all-important letter, he lay in bed and waited for dawn. His thoughts were restless, and the wait was nerve-wracking. He felt he had little reason to hope. How could he expect Anne to forgive him? She, who had held a grudge against him for five years for calling her 'carrots?' He had just spurned her offer of marriage. What was the price of this transgression? Eternal banishment from her life, Gilbert guessed.

Before dawn even broke, he rose and dressed himself carefully, but plainly. He left the house and walked through the dewy fields in the predawn light. In the shadowy nooks and hollows of the fields and woods where clusters of autumnal wildflowers grew, Gilbert gathered the prettiest blooms. Flowers were rather scarce as it was now October, and Gilbert contemplated adding the vivid branches of golden birch leaves or the royal crimson of the maples. In his search for more flowers, he wandered deeper into the woods, beyond the marshes and the harvest hills that were now basking in an amber sunrise radiance under an aerial sky of rose and blue. The woods around the head of the marsh were full of purple vistas, threaded with gossamers. Past a dour group of gnarled spruces and a maple-fringed dell, he made a discovery.

An apple tree, aged, yet strong, growing with vigor alone and afar from any apple orchard. It was adorned with fruit, red and ripe. Gilbert approached it slowly, hardly daring to believe that the tree before him was more than the morning mist. He ran his hands along a sturdy bough and plucked an apple. It was firm and crimson, and he rubbed it against his sleeve until it shined. Taking a bite, he thought he had never tasted a more delicious apple. He eagerly picked a few more, filling the small basket he had brought with him to hold the flowers he had picked. He carefully arranged the blooms to make room for the few apples, regretfully wishing he had brought a larger basket. When the basket held as much as it could without harming the flowers, he stood for a moment, memorizing how he had arrived in this extraordinary place. Then, with a bracing breath, he picked up the basket and began to head for Green Gables.

He felt his courage rising as he steadily walked, and he idly wondered if the apple he had eaten had been imbued with the same strength the tree had in growing so far from an orchard. He needed that strength as Green Gables came into view, the farm stirring with morning chores. He must have been spotted from a distance, for someone was dispatched to send him away. The someone, however, was not Marilla, but _Dora_. The little girl approached him with both shyness and determination in her task.

"Anne doesn't want to see you," she said softly but firmly. "You hurt her feelings."

Gilbert sadly nodded his head. "I did," he said. "And I'm so sorry."

"She sent me to tell you to leave her alone, please," Dora continued in her sweet, child's voice.

Gilbert gave a sad smile. "If that's what she wants," he agreed.

Dora gave a sigh of relief at his compliance. Confrontation involved everything she abhorred: speaking up and standing out. But she would not fail Anne, whom she adored as both sister and mother. Dora would face any of her fears at gentle Anne's request.

"Before you go," Gilbert said quickly. "Could you please give this to Anne?" He held forth the basket of apples and flowers with one hand and then with the other, carefully withdrew the letter from his breast coat pocket.

Dora hesitated, unsure. Her instructions had not included anything about gifts. Should she accept or refuse?

"Please, Dora?" Gilbert pleaded.

His face is so sad, thought Dora. She was not privy to the details that had led Anne to cry upstairs and avoid Gilbert's company, but she thought Mr. Blythe was a good and kind teacher, and so handsome, too. Anybody should be pleased to accept gifts from him. Making up her mind, she nodded shyly and took the basket and letter from him.

Gilbert watched as Dora returned to the house, and he prayed that all was not lost. When she disappeared within the home, he walked slowly back to the Blythe farm and the farm work that awaited him there. The cows were milked and herded to pasture; the chickens were fed, and the eggs gathered. Breakfast was served and eaten, as Edie observed her son with worry. He was so quiet, and he ate so little. Where had he wandered to this morn? she fretted. Had he gone to Green Gables again? No answer was forthcoming from Gilbert, and as it was the weekend, he left for the fields instead of the classroom.

Mechanically, he swung the cradle and cut stalks of oats, moving steadily down the field. Swing, cut, step. Time lost all meaning as he pressed forward with no thought but the seemingly endless field in front of him. He had no notion of how long he had been in the oat fields, when his work was interrupted by a loud call of his name. He paused and looked around for the source.

His heart quailed at the formidable sight of Diana Barry marching across the shorn oat field with a red-faced Fred Wright in tow.

"Gilbert Blythe!" Diana called as she came closer. "I have something to say to you!"

Gilbert quietly set down the cradle and waited for justice. Fred seemed to be trying to keep Diana from whatever she intended to dole out.

"Di, darling, this really isn't necessary."

He tugged gently on her forearm as they came up to Gilbert, and she yanked her arm away from her fiance.

"I was hoping and praying for so long that you and Anne would get together," Diana admonished with a shaking finger at Gilbert. She then poked said finger into his chest. "I thought you two were just _made_ for each other. You have LOVED her for AGES! Granted, Anne's methods are rather _unusual_ … but we all know that! You've really disappointed me, Gilbert. I CANNOT BELIEVE that you would be such an _IDIOT_ to not LEAP at the opportunity of marrying Anne, no matter how it came about! That poor girl is devastated. All she does is write and write and then tear up the pages! I saved what I could!"

She dug into her pockets and tossed scraps of paper at him. Gilbert managed to catch a couple. Fragments of poetic lines were scribbled on the bits of paper. One simply said,

 _Our blindness betrayed like minded fools._

And the other said,

 _Must set my broken wings to the wind._

Gilbert's face crumpled, and he slowly bent to retrieve the scattered papers among the oats. Kneeling at their feet, he gathered the scraps carefully into his hands.

"Di, please, his heart's broke," Fred pleaded.

"He broke it himself!" Diana exclaimed mercilessly.

"Di!" Fred cried. "I'm sorry, Gil," he said, sending a concerned glance down to his friend. "Di, come away. That's enough."

"It's fine, Fred," Gilbert said dully. "It's no more than I deserve." Indeed, the lambasting felt righteous, and Gilbert replayed Diana's searing words to himself in order to feel their full measure.

Diana heaved a breath, still angry. She glared down at him. "The thing is, Gil, that Anne _might_ still love you."

Gilbert's head jerked up to lock eyes with Diana.

"Yes, it's true," sighed Diana. "Do you love her?"

"I've always been in love with her," Gilbert said fervently.

Diana's eyes narrowed. "Well, you've got a funny way of showing it!"

Gilbert cast his head down, and Fred yelped, "Di!"

"You MIGHT be able to make this right, Gil," Diana said, and Gilbert looked up again. "You've been such a fool, Gil, and I never thought of you as a fool. Fix this, and perhaps you can find happiness together."

"I don't know, Diana," Gilbert said mournfully. "She begrudged me for half a decade after I called her 'carrots.' As much as I hope otherwise, I fear there may be no coming back from this."

Diana gazed down at him imperiously, but she was softening. "Anne has been a fool at times, too." She sighed, then gave a small smile. "Anne's older and wiser now, and I thought you'd be, too. Try again, Gil. Don't give up, especially when it comes to Anne. She's worth it."

A pinprick of hope ignited within Gilbert's heart. Diana smiled a bit more, and Fred gave a sigh of relief that the diatribe was over. He extended a hand to Gilbert and pulled him to his feet. Diana gave Gilbert a nod and then departed. Fred shrugged sheepishly and hastened after her. Gilbert watched them go, a warmth growing within him. Perhaps there was still some hope for him after all.

* * *

A/N: There were direct references from the Anne of Green Gables series in this chapter. I claim no credit to anything you may recognize from the original books. That's all the wonderful work of L.M. Montgomery. I have also quoted from a beautiful song, which I have attributed to Anne's poetic musings in this chapter. It is the lovely work of SHEL, in their song called "Like Minded Fool." There is a also dialogue in this chapter that was inspired by MrsVonTrapp's Let Love clasp Grief lest both be drown'd in Chapter 4: Reckoning. I just love what she did with that chapter, and she kindly let me use the idea for mine.

What a debacle Gilbert has worked himself into in this chapter, and I was pleased to see that some of you saw this coming in your reviews! Thank you so much for your lovely reviews and private messages. They mean the world to me, thank you!


	7. An Apple Picking for the Ages

The next few days were a blur of worry, work, and hope for Gilbert. Every morning, he faithfully dropped off a basket at Green Gables for Anne, a basket that contained various tokens of affection - often flowers, but always an apple or two or three from the secluded apple tree. Gilbert made daily pilgrimages to said tree, at first struggling to find it again, but after a time, he was able to find it as easily as his own home.

The day's basket contained apple cake (that Gilbert had baked himself the night before), two apples, and a spray of vivid red maple branches. The basket was left quickly and quietly on the back step of Green Gables in the predawn darkness, with Gilbert rushing away like some sort of reverse thief in the night. His speed lessened as he came closer to his own farm, and as he started to walk, he thought of his wood sprite and wondered if he, in turn, was some sort of lovesick elf.

The Blythe farm came into view just as the rising sun peeked over the eastern hills, illuminating the red sandstone barnyard below and the old buildings upon it. The barnyard was teaming with life: the cows were lowing in the barn, the rooster was crowing among the hens, and the hogs were squealing noisily in their pen. Their loud squeals would end soon, as Uncle George had arranged for both families' hogs to be butchered one day hence. Then there would be ham and ribs aplenty to serve at the apple picking party. Gilbert rolled up his sleeves and headed to the impatient cows.

Chores were accomplished as briskly as possible along with breakfast. His mother expressed some frustration at the sudden absence of the apple cake. Had Gilbert actually eaten it all? She debated whether this was a good or bad possibility. With a suspicious glance at her son, she decided to let it go. Gilbert almost felt amused at her confusion, but not wanting to clarify the matter, he hurried off to the schoolhouse.

Plans for the apple picking party were well underway, with much of Avonlea eager to attend. Church service a couple days prior had been a means to invite folks, and most were excited at the prospect of a party. The fact that it was also labor bothered none. Hard work was commonplace in Avonlea and far superior to amusement. From quilting bees to barn-raisings, gathering together for work was an eagerly anticipated occasion.

Part of the excitement came from young ladies who were delighted to attend a party at Gilbert Blythe's invitation. Even if the specific inviting had been done by his mother, that was just proxy for Gilbert, surely. Nothing had seemed to come about with Anne Shirley's return to Avonlea. What an odd cat she was! It was good to see Gilbert coming to his senses and hosting a party to find someone more suitable.

If Gilbert had any idea that the young, eligible women of Avonlea were approaching this party akin to Cinderella's ball, he might have had misgivings about hosting it. As it was, he looked forward to the event. At the very least it would be a distraction from the disastrous state of affairs with Anne. At the very most, well, that remained to be seen. For Gilbert had devised another plan.

If, by all goodness and mercy, Anne were to attend the apple picking party, he would spirit her away to the special apple tree, where Gilbert would declare his love and respect for her and beg for a second proposal. It was a precarious plan at best, but Gilbert clung tenaciously to it. If it could not come to pass, he would simply continue to bring her gifts until the end of time. There would be no other for him. That was that.

The day of the butchering, Anne's basket contained a nosegay of asters (a lucky find), three apples, and a bird's nest (that had been knocked from a tree near the Blythe barn). The fledglings had long since left, but Gilbert found nests and other nature paraphernalia fascinating, and he thought Anne might, too, so in it went. Later, as he came in for breakfast clutching the milk pail, his mother asked him about her market basket.

"Do you know where it is, Gilbert? I swear I had it in the storeroom, but it's gone completely."

Gilbert shrugged, hurrying past her. As his mother puttered about making breakfast and continuing to search for her wayward basket, Gilbert strained the new milk and set it aside. The cream had risen to the top of the previous evening's milk, and he scraped it off and plunked it in the butter churn. He began to churn the butter as his mother set the table.

"Have… have you heard at all from Green Gables?" Edie asked hesitantly.

"Hmm?" Gilbert asked, pretending deafness, yet the increasing vigor of his churning belied his ears.

"Um, nothing," said Edie, eyeing the churn. "Gilbert, careful, you'll - "

The churn gave an ominous cracking noise, and Gilbert abruptly stopped his efforts. He sheepishly inspected the churn before recommencing more carefully.

Breakfast was a quiet affair, Edie not wishing to press Gilbert further, and Gilbert feigning ambivalence. The silence was gratefully broken by the arrival of Aunt Kitty through the kitchen door.

"Hullo, you two!" she said cheerily. "George is just about ready. A spot has been cleared afore our barn and a fire built."

"Wonderful," said Edie rising. "I've sharpened the knives."

"I'll herd the pigs over," Gilbert added, rising and exiting out the backdoor.

Gilbert had cancelled school for the day in order to focus on butchering, a wise decision, he thought. The unsuspecting hogs were not keen to follow his lead to the Fletcher farm, being far more interested in rooting around in whatever came across their path. It was just as well, thought Gilbert, as he used all his strength to pull the ropes wrapped around each hog's chest to move them onward, he wasn't so keen to kill them.

After much struggle, Gilbert arrived with the hogs, and work commenced. His uncle had two hogs himself, so there was plenty to do. Pacifique Buote had brought his wife and four little ones to help. The Buote small fry all ran for cover, their fingers stuffed in their ears, for each hog's demise, but all returned happily to help with the busy preparation of the meat. The barnyard was a hive of activity as the meat was made into sausage or headcheese or put in the Fletcher's ice house or smokehouse. The Fletchers' smokehouse was the envy of many a farmer in Avonlea, a substantial affair of solid oak slats with trenches like footpaths that were filled with the savory smoke of burning maple wood chips. The hams and shoulders were hung from the numerous ceiling hooks throughout the smokehouse. The smokehouse roof had two adorable, miniature brick chimneys that merrily puffed the delicious scent of smoked meat throughout Avonlea.

It was little surprise that the delectable smells drew passerby. Josie and Gertie Pye arrived for an untimely call to chat about the upcoming apple picking party. They expressed their disgust over the butchering whilst they busily ogled Gilbert and finally left bickering, but not before sampling the pork belly that Kitty was frying up. Old Hiram Sloane conveniently showed up at dinner break, just as all were taking a much needed rest to eat fried pork belly with biscuits, and "kindly offered to taste test because of his discerning palate." It was only when Davy Keith and Milty Boulter came by that Gilbert appreciated the intrusiveness of their neighbors. The boys had taken advantage of their day off from school to go fishing at Barry's Pond, but when they were unable to catch anything, they followed their noses to the Fletcher place.

"Say, would anyone miss a few of those biscuit sandwiches?" said Davy. "It's just that we're awfully hungry. We ate all the lunch Marilla packed for us _ages_ ago."

Gilbert set aside his work with a smile. His family exchanged glances as he hurried to offer the boys refreshment. When the boys were happily eating, he sat down beside them.

"How are things at Green Gables?" he asked rather nervously.

"Fie," said Davy through a mouthful of sandwich. He swallowed tremendously. "Say, Gilbert, do fairies exist? I want to know. Because fairies keep bringing us things."

"Have they?" said Gilbert, fighting a smile.

"Yeah," said Davy with a shrug. "I asked Anne if it was fairies, and she said maybe."

"How is Anne?" Gilbert asked hesitantly.

"Boring," Davy sighed. "But at least she's not sad anymore."

"She's not?" Gilbert asked in surprise.

"No, she came downstairs and baked plum puffs day before last," said an unassuming Davy, "but they're all gone. Thankfully, the fairies brought apple cake yesterday. Hey, do you think we could write a note to the fairies with requests? There wasn't anything to eat in today's basket, and I think there should be. Jam tarts, for one."

"Sure, why not," said Gilbert, adding a conspiratorial wink. "Write the fairies a note. Couldn't hurt."

When the boys finished their sandwiches they lingered to help, or rather to play with the Buote children. It was some hours before they wandered on home. As evening fell, and butchering finally wrapped up, the Blythes, Fletchers, and the Buotes gathered together to eat supper. Old blankets were spread out to picnic in the twilight, and dishes of pork chops and mashed potatoes smothered in gravy were passed around. The bonfire cast a welcome warmth on the outdoor supper. The air had a chill in it, and a freeze was likely to come soon. Thankfully, the apple harvest would be in by week's end, and the harvest would be over for the Blythe farm. Stars began to wink above the evening picnic, and Gilbert lay back to observe them. Harvest end no longer held the same anticipation Gilbert had felt as he had devised his plan to propose to Anne. But perhaps the apple picking party held the opportunity to begin resolving the proposal disaster. Hope was slim, but it still beat a steady rhythm within his heart.

Yet, as the couple days between the butchering and the apple picking party slipped away, Gilbert began to dread the whole event. Rumors had reached his ears of the supposed intent of the party, and the eager anticipation of the young women in Avonlea. _Why_ they were interested in him following his family's descent into illness and poverty, Gilbert had trouble comprehending. What he was unaware of was that his family's struggles were not exactly public knowledge. If it had been, perhaps it would have deterred interest, but in general, inheriting a house and farmland was plenty sufficient for many an aspiring bride in Avonlea. To have that house and farmland belong to the gorgeous Gilbert Blythe had all the makings of a happily ever after in Avonlea.

Despite his difficulties in understanding his appeal in monetary terms, Gilbert _was_ aware of his looks. In his younger years, perhaps too aware. But grief and disappointment had humbled him, and the fancy others felt for him seemed misplaced. The only admiration he cared about was one he now had the least right to expect. And that is where most of his dread lay. For his dread for the party was not solely due to the bevy of unattached women who would come, but also his increasing certainty that Anne would not.

When the day of the party finally arrived, Gilbert was in a state of dreadful nerves. All lay in readiness. The barnyard had been swept clean and strung with winking lanterns. A ring of tables laid neatly with ironed tablecloths and doilies awaited platters of roast pork and mounds of mashed potatoes, creamed corn, and dishes of assorted pies and more. Chairs and blankets spread on hay bales were scattered liberally. A pile of baskets and trugs for apple picking led the way to the orchard. The various musicians of Avonlea were gathering in a corner of the barnyard tuning their instruments, as apple pickers began to arrive.

Soon a throng of people filled the barnyard, taking baskets and moseying on over to the apple orchard. A hubbub of cheerful activity shook the orchard, quite literally as younger children climbed into trees to shake apple-laden branches, while others plucked the low-hanging fruit more carefully. In vain, Gilbert looked for Anne, his efforts hindered by the many young ladies constantly catching his arm. Hope dwindled within him, and the merrymaking surrounding him became dull and monotonous. As apple pickers returned to the barnyard with heavy baskets, Gilbert decided to manage the cider press in an effort to avoid the dance floor. Any apple not suitable for storage or sale was sent to the cider press, which Gilbert cranked with single-minded determination at the edge of the barnyard. His efforts to avoid the dance floor were successful, however his subconscious aim to avoid attention was not, as a crowd of young ladies gathered around him to ogle. And not just young ladies.

"He cuts a fine figure, doesn't he?" remarked Mrs. William Cartwright, every day of fifty-five years, to Almira Andrews, decidedly elderly.

Instead of responding, Almira shoved a huge bite of boysenberry pie into her mouth and smacked her lips.

Much of the crowd around Gilbert lingered despite the enticing tunes played by the musicians catty-corner to the cider press, although others took to the earthen dance floor to twirl and clap beneath the winking lanterns and stars. The fiddles sang folksy and true with the twang of Ol' Uncle Abe's banjo (more enthusiasm than talent), when a discordant harmonica entered the song. Many looked around for the unexpected source, including Gilbert.

Davy Keith, happily and noisily playing a harmonica, danced about with abandon on the other side of the barnyard. Gilbert's eyes widened. If Davy was here, then maybe…

Gilbert rapidly surveyed the revelry before him. A flash of red hair caught the lantern light, and Gilbert's heart leapt into his throat. _Anne had come!_ After all his hopes and all his fears, he could scarcely believe that she truly had come.

The ladies around him squealed with delight and squabbled amongst each other as he abruptly headed for the dance floor, and they all vied to be closest should he ask for their hand. He pushed past them, and the squeals and squabbles turned from delight to dismay as they watched his path toward _Miss Anne Shirley?_ She stood at the edge of the dance floor, as though waiting for a partner, a role Gilbert seemed eager to fulfill as he hurried toward her.

Gilbert's heart soared. All was not lost. She had _come_. She was lovelier than ever, her cheeks rosy, her eyes sparkling, and she was dressed in a gown that was NOT BLACK, but a soft shade of purple, nearly pink. A thick-knit, creamy shawl and matching tam kept the chill at bay. Gilbert's heart beat a rapid tempo as he watched her smile, and he gathered his courage to take her to his secret apple tree, to plead for her love.

Yet as he drew near to her, Gilbert saw that her smile had not been for him. He stopped abruptly as Anne accepted the arm of none other than _Charlie Sloane_ , who stood beside her. The Sloanes had conveniently missed the apple picking aspect of the party, but had now arrived _en force_ for the dinner and dancing. Charlie was quite literally puffed up with self-importance, and as the pieces fell into place in Gilbert's mind, he realized that Anne had come to HIS party with CHARLIE SLOANE. For a moment, he felt the full weight of this injury, her intention to wound him instead of not attending. He wanted to flee, disappear. But the sight of Charlie's pompous, goggle-eyed face suddenly sent a rumble of anger through him, as Anne likely intended.

Looking pleased as punch, Charlie led Anne onto the barnyard dance floor. Almost before Gilbert had realized what he was doing, he had hastened to the farfetched couple. In keeping with his newfound momentum, he sharply tapped Charlie on the shoulder.

The couple paused at the interruption, Charlie swelling with importance. "I say, Gilbert, wait your turn," he complained, trying to take Anne's hand again. "I'm escorting Anne, and we've only just begun."

"I'm afraid I insist," Gilbert said rather loudly. Realizing his volume, he lowered his voice and turned to the woman he loved. "I need to speak with you, Anne."

"We're rather preoccupied, Gilbert," she said stiffly, accepting Charlie's hand and beginning to dance away.

Gilbert blinked, his heart sinking. Rather stupidly, he stood there in the middle of the dance floor, watching his love swirl away from him.

Their interaction had not gone unnoticed, even beyond the petulant young women nursing their disappointment on the sidelines. Edie and Aunt Kitty looked nervously on, as others smiled gleefully to themselves over the possible uproar. Fred hurried over to intervene, leaving Diana at the dessert table wringing her hands.

"I'm sorry," Gilbert mumbled, red-faced, to Fred when he appeared before him.

"Sorry for what?" Fred said, trying to be lighthearted. "Come on, let's get you something to eat."

Obediently, Gilbert shuffled off the dance floor with Fred, who clapped an arm across his shoulder. However, as they approached the tables piled high with victuals, Gilbert eased away from his friend. The initial desire to flee and disappear had returned with a vengeance, and even before Fred could belay him, Gilbert was hurrying away into the darkness beyond the lantern light. He broke into a haphazard run through the orchard, dodging lingering apple-pickers and a few young couples seeking secret embraces. His heart twisted painfully at the sight of their affection. Past the orchard, he slowed to a walk, his head in his hands. A chilly breeze blew a kaleidoscope of autumnal leaves across his path, and he realized that he was in the woods, subconsciously making his way to the secluded apple tree. Seclusion seemed ideal, and he picked up his feet. He wound past the marshes, past the moody spruces and the maples, their red leaves fluttering in the October zephyr. The lonely apple tree came into view before him, and he heaved a sigh and laid a hand on a sturdy bough.

The trees around him swished and creaked in a haunting gale, and memories of Anne, Anne, _Anne_ filled his mind. With pain, he recalled the day he pulled her braid and called her carrots. The pink candy heart he had given her flashed into his mind along with the image of her crushing it beneath her shoe. He thought of her drenched, white dress as he rowed her to shore and the fury in her eyes as she sent him running. Would he always run from her? he wondered, tears welling in his eyes.

A soft footfall from behind had him hastily rubbing his eyes and turning with embarrassment to his intruder, likely Fred.

But it was not Fred. With some shock, Gilbert found himself facing _Anne_ herself.

She was no longer the cold, aloof woman on the dance floor. Her face held sorrow and pain as she beheld him, and Gilbert's heart seemed to stop and restart with a vengeance as she came closer to him. When she was directly before him, she gently placed her hand upon his cheek, and quite unable to help himself, Gilbert leaned into her delicate touch. He placed his hand atop hers and found his voice.

"I'm so sorry, Anne," he murmured. "For everything." The tears that had threatened to fall came forth and trickled down his cheeks.

Anne swallowed somewhat nervously and slowly withdrew her hand, Gilbert's following before dropping to his side. She turned half away from him, as though thinking.

"The letter," she suddenly said. "Did you mean it?" She glanced back at him.

"Every word," breathed Gilbert fervently. Could he dare to hope?

"Why did you bring me a bird's nest?" she asked next, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Gilbert's heart began to spread its wings. "I thought you might like it," he said, a small smile now trembling at the edges of his own mouth.

"I did," she admitted.

The wind swirled through the dell they stood in, momentarily silencing them as it blew the leaves and set the apples upon the apple tree a'swinging. Anne's eyes caught the movement, and she gave a delighted little gasp.

"An apple tree - and away back here!" she exclaimed.

Gilbert's tentative smile grew into a true grin. "Yes, it's a rare find, a mile away from any orchard." His eyes lingered on her as she gazed at the tree.

"I suppose it sprang years ago, from some chance-sown seed," said Anne dreamily.

"I suppose so," said Gilbert, his heart a drumbeat within him. "And yet it has grown and flourished and held its own here."

"The brave determined thing!" Anne declared.

She plucked an apple and peered at it in the semi-darkness. "These are the apples you have been bringing?"

"Yes, although I hoped I could bring you here," said Gilbert. Then, with a thought to carpe diem, he boldly asked, "Why did you follow me, Anne?"

Anne paused, her eyes on the apple in her hand. She then turned to him, saying rather too innocently, "Charlie kept stepping on my feet."

"Vixen," Gilbert said and realized he had spoken aloud. Yet the look of surprised indignation on Anne's face nearly made him laugh, despite the tension. With a cockiness he thought long-gone, he grasped her hand and tugged her closer. "C'mere, Anne-girl."

"Gilbert!" Anne exclaimed, now in full indignation. Face to face, she looked up at him in some amazement. "Anne-girl?"

Gilbert grinned. "Perhaps I should call you 'vengeful vixen' instead?"

Anne spluttered wordlessly. Gilbert gave into the laugh he had been repressing, and then caressed her cheek and lifted her chin.

"Anne-girl, darling, my love… " he sighed, sobering. After a momentary silence, he wiped roughly at the tears that had returned to his eyes. "I love you more than words could say. I'm so sorry for the pain I've caused you."

She watched him intently, deciphering the depth of his words and seeing the pain in his eyes no levity could hide.

"Anne," Gilbert continued, bringing their clasped hands up to his heart. "I will always love you, whether you forgive me or not."

Anne's lips trembled, and she turned her head away, eyes closed tight. Her body quivered with restrained sobs. "Oh, Gilbert," she said thickly. "I cannot bear not to."

Utterly distressed at her reaction, but growing light-headed with joy at her confession, Gilbert cried, "Oh, my darling, my only love!" and crushed her to him. He pressed heated kisses to her cheeks. "You forgive me?"

Under the deluge of his passion, Anne found herself laughing through her tears. "Eleven-year-old me would be appalled at my capitulation. But she didn't know what it was like to love you."

Gilbert smiled and stroked her silken cheek. "My love, you can't imagine how grateful I am." His eyes shone with emotion. "I don't deserve it," he murmured, his eyes on her soft, full lips and the luscious freckle. He caressed her jaw with his fingertip and guided her lips to his, kissing her tenderly. She kissed him back, her lips warm and inviting, and an overwhelming thrill filled Gilbert until he thought he might take flight. She tasted like honeysuckle, her scent like springtime. His heart soared. Could there be any greater happiness?

Yes, there could, Gilbert thought, his lips still gently pressed against hers. With a final, delicious kiss to the corner of her mouth where that tantalizing freckle lay, Gilbert slowly drew back and spoke.

"Anne, you asked me a question last week," he said with a nervous smile. "If you ask it again, I think you will have a different answer."

"Will I?" Anne asked rather breathlessly with an arched brow.

That arched brow sent a quiver of nervous energy through Gilbert, and he anxiously nodded.

Anne suddenly seemed unable to speak, and Gilbert felt wretched with worry and despair at her silence and downcast eyes. But then she looked up at him, her eyes shining with the love-rapture of countless generations, and looked into his for a moment.

"Would you like to marry me?" Anne asked softly.

Gilbert's breath caught as a wave of happiness broke over him. It almost frightened him.

"Yes, oh, Anne, my love, yes," he replied, just as softly. He drew her into his arms and kissed her again. Anne sighed into his embrace and deepened the kiss. Her fingers gently caressed the nape of his neck, and a spark ignited within him, kindling into flame.

Gilbert had to be dreaming. There could be no possible way the woman in his arms would have forgiven him - in one week! An engagement was even more implausible. He pulled her closer, unwilling to waken.

A frigid and all too authentic wind swept through the dell in which they stood embracing, sending Anne into shivers, although not of pleasure. Their lips broke apart, but Gilbert was glad to recognize that the woman he warmed in his arms was no fantasy. He wrapped her in the folds of his jacket and rubbed her arms to warm her. Soon, they would need to return, but first he braced himself for another question that beset him.

"I am hesitant to ask, but what made you change your mind?"

"You should be more afraid to look a gift horse in the mouth," Anne said teasingly, but Gilbert could hear the warning in her words.

Silence fell between them, Gilbert desperately afraid to say or do the wrong thing.

"Marilla," Anne said eventually. "Marilla changed my mind."

There was no further explanation, and Gilbert dared not press her. As the momentary tension disappeared between them, they lingered beneath the apple tree, sharing kisses and stammering shyly of their shared future in lover-fashion. It was only the chill of the autumn evening that persuaded them to leave the apple tree. They walked slowly back, Anne wearing Gilbert's jacket, while he was wrapped in her knit shawl.

"I'm sorry about Charlie," Anne said. "I suppose I truly was a 'vengeful vixen.'" She then gave a gasp followed by a sharp laugh. "Oh, dear. What about Charlie?"

Gilbert scoffed and pulled her against him for another kiss.

* * *

A/N: Hello and apologies for the delay in posting this new chapter! Real life has limited my writing time lately, and I've had some writer's block, too. I'm actually a slow writer, and it was kind of a miracle that previous chapters were posted so rapidly. The next chapters may continue to take me awhile. :(

On another note, I hope this chapter cheered up any readers distressed over the last one! It was hard to write this sudden swing back to a proposal, so I'm curious to hear your thoughts.

Thank you for reading and for all the wonderful reviews and private messages! They mean so much to me, thanks!


	8. New Beginnings

_Dearest Gilbert,_

 _We are over the moon regarding the news of your engagement! Congratulations, dear nephew! Your Uncle Dave and I wish you both joy. Anne Shirley is a wonderful young woman with charm, beauty, and aplomb! (So little is granted to us ladies, that I do love a woman with aplomb, but I digress). We feel that we already know her, and we are so glad that you shall have the rest of your lives together. I am afraid that we received your letter as I hosted our Glen St. Mary sewing circle, and I quite lost my countenance in front of all present with a cheery huzzah! Naturally, all of Four Winds shares in your joy._

 _Much love,_

 _Your Aunt Katherine_

 _Dear Gilbert,_

 _Having received notification of your engagement, I have taken it upon myself to write to you of my congratulations. I would write to your fianc_ _é_ _e as well, but as you have never told me about her, I would have no idea where to send my felicitations. Please rectify this immediately, nephew. I have to admit, that I am taken unawares by this engagement, and I feel distressed that I was not in your confidence about your affection for this young woman. This is because, I assume, you have long known her. However, if this is not the case, well then I have other concerns. Do we know her people? Of course I am only your great aunt, so I suppose my opinions count for little. In my day, it was different, but no matter._

 _Most Sincerely,_

 _Mary Maria_

 _Dear Mr. Blythe,_

 _Thank you for your inquiry. Yes, we are able to construct a ring from a Sterling silver utensil within the price range you indicated. Depending on the size of the utensil, we can construct two rings, for only marginally more cost. We also have an array of semi-precious gemstones that can decorate the ring or rings, should you choose to do so. If I may be so bold, might I suggest a garnet or amethyst? We have such stones in stock for an affordable price. Again, thank you for inquiry, and we look forward to receiving further instructions from you._

 _Sincerely,_

 _John Margrave, Margrave Jewelers_

"Let me read that letter from your aunt again," said Anne, smiling. She reached lazily toward the pile of letters on the settee.

"Which aunt?" Gilbert asked, thinking of the letter from Mr. Margrave. Garnet or amethyst?

They were comfortably ensconced in the Blythe parlor before a cheery fire, Anne reclining on a cushion close to the fireplace and Gilbert close by on the settee. An autumn gale blew noisily beyond the parlor windows, stripping the faded leaves from trees and beckoning winter to begin. Inside the parlor, all was cozy both from the warmth of the fire and the unassailable happiness of the couple within.

" _You_ know," said Anne. "Your Aunt Katherine, of course." She stretched forth her arm to reach for it. Gilbert teasingly held it just beyond her touch before obliging her. Anne settled back happily to peruse the letter again.

"I like your Aunt Katherine," said Anne with satisfaction, her eyes on the letter. "She seems almost like a delightful version of Mrs. Lynde."

Gilbert gave a guffaw of laughter. "I'm afraid nothing could be further from the truth, Anne-girl. Aunt Katherine is a veritable suffragist. Could you imagine Mrs. Lynde campaigning for women's rights?"

"A suffragist?" Anne asked in surprise, then fascination. She sat back on her heels, a look of contemplation on her face. "How intriguing!" She gave a throaty laugh, adding, "Mrs. Lynde actively undermines any notion of progressive thinking for women, despite being Avonlea's most ferocious woman!" Gilbert joined her in laughter. "I am almost afraid she'll learn that we are here without a chaperone."

"She'll never," Gilbert assured her, but with a quick glance at the windows just in case.

"What about your other aunt?" Anne inquired, propping her chin on her elbow and looking up at Gilbert. "She seems rather intimidating."

"Poor old Aunt Mary Maria," Gilbert said with a grin. "Or at least that's how Dad used to refer to her. She's the opposite of delightful, I'm afraid. But she's part of this family, so that's that. I'm afraid we Blythes are a clannish lot, Anne-girl."

"I shan't mind," Anne said with a dreamy smile. "On the contrary I find it delightful to soon have extended family."

Her soft spoken words cut through Gilbert, and he turned to her with regret in his eyes. But of course Anne had never had the experience of an extended family, even one as small as Gilbert's.

"Shall we have a good-sized family of our own, Anne?" Gilbert asked tenderly, although the tips of his ears reddened.

"Of course! We've already decided that," she reminded him joyfully. She caught sight of Gilbert's subtle blush and clasped his hand. "As many as Mrs. Lynde?" she teased.

His eyebrows shot up. Everyone in Avonlea regularly heard about Mrs. Lynde's superior parenting of her ten children, despite all having moved away from the Island.

Anne laughed delightedly at the stunned expression on Gilbert's face. "Well, perhaps not that many," she said, patting his hand in reassurance.

"Whatever you want," Gilbert said, only somewhat hoarsely.

Anne gave him a quick smile before rising and saucily sitting in his lap. With the ease of a week's practice, Gilbert pulled her close and kissed her. His heartbeat thrummed in his ears as his lips pressed to hers, and with a daring thrill he caressed her sides, feeling the taut boning of her stays beneath her frock. He had envisioned, although not quite believed, that Anne could be like this. But a week of heated kisses taught him that his Anne had a side to her that left him nearly weak with anticipation of their wedding night. Her hands tantalizingly stroked lower and lower along his shirt front, and all thought escaped him. When Anne abruptly broke away to sit beside him in a demure manner, Gilbert took a moment to register that the front door had opened and a swirl of cold air had blown in. He could scarcely recall his own name, let alone generate concern that someone might catch sight of such indecent behavior, and he tugged Anne back to him. She drew away playfully as Edie and Aunty Kitty came into the parlor, unwinding their scarves and beaming at them.

"Making plans?" Edie asked them knowingly. Aunt Kitty turned a laugh into a cough.

Gilbert blushed, and the twin sisters mercifully continued on to the kitchen without further comment, Edie whistling cheerfully as she went.

The whirlwind of a week's engagement had not hindered the two from their future plans. Indeed, the plans had begun nearly as soon as they had agreed to wed. Envisioned was a late spring wedding with white roses and mayflowers in the Green Gables orchard, observed by those near and dear to them. A simple wedding luncheon would follow before the happy couple made their way to Anne's new home at the Blythe farm.

Within a day of learning of the engagement, Edie had sat both Gilbert and Anne down at the worn table in the Blythe kitchen to tell them that she wished for the farmhouse to be wholly theirs. She intended to go live at the Fletchers' as soon as they were married. The couple had protested. No such sacrifice was needed. Anne's arrival surely did not mean that Edie should leave. Edie had beamed and declared herself charmed at their reluctance for her departure, but she was adamant. The two of them deserved to make a home for themselves, and she would be only be a stone's throw away with her dear sister and brother-in-law. No further plea would sway her, although she hinted she might return once they were blessed with children. The conversation ended with Edie's laughter at the couple's blushing faces.

The old Blythe farmhouse would undergo a thorough deep cleaning in the months leading up to the wedding, as well as a fresh coat of paint. Rooms would be aired out and rearranged to the bride's preference. Gilbert hoped the old house could become like a new home for them, a place to start their lives and dream new dreams.

"What is the third letter about?" asked Anne, observing it still clutched within Gilbert's hand, despite the passion of the previous moments.

Gilbert hesitated, but then said, "It's arrangements for your ring, Anne."

"My ring?" she asked him softly, her eyes tender.

"Yes, what would you like for a gemstone? Amethyst? Garnet?"

"I used to wonder if amethysts were the souls of violets," said Anne with a smile.

"What are diamonds the souls of?" Gilbert asked quietly.

Anne's eyes flicked up to Gilbert's and saw the discomfort there. "I've never really liked diamonds since I found out they weren't the lovely purple I had dreamed. They will always suggest my old disappointment."

"Will a simple amethyst disappoint you?" Gilbert asked with apprehension.

"On the contrary, it would delight me always," she said with shining eyes, and Gilbert felt heartened.

The day following the apple picking party, the best of the apples had been transported to Charlottetown market via the Fletchers' horse and wagon. Gilbert, hardly recovered from his enchanted evening, had fairly floated to Charlottetown. Thankfully, he had come to his senses before he could be swindled by the merciless shipping agents. The apples had been assessed and priced, before being loaded aboard a mainland-bound steamer. With payment in pocket, Gilbert had gone to Abby Bank to deposit the earnings and settle what debt he could. The day had been an exhausting one, enduring the chaos of the shipyard amid all the other farmers there to unload their hard-won harvest. Gilbert and his uncle's horse had walked tiredly along the main avenue as evening fell, when Gilbert caught sight of Margrave Jewelers. The shop had closed, but Gilbert slipped his inquiry regarding an engagement ring under the door.

In the Blythe parlor, measurements of Anne's ring finger were taken, and Gilbert thought of the silver spoon, now polished and shining, upstairs. Gilbert, nearly giddy with the thought of a lovely ring for Anne, only worried mildly what the 'additional cost' might entail.

After the measurements, Anne picked up a stack of papers she had brought with her, and Gilbert recognized the pages that had led him into Barry's Pond. Anne gazed thoughtfully into the fire and then began to write. After some moments, Gilbert's curiosity could not help intruding.

"What is it you're writing, Anne?"

She looked up at him and smiled. "A story about hope."

"Is that all?" Gilbert asked wryly, and Anne laughed.

"Well, it gives me hope," she said. "And perhaps, if I'm fortunate, it will to others."

"May I read it?" Gilbert asked.

Anne hesitated. "When it's ready, you will be the first to read it."

A bit put out, Gilbert sat back, but he nodded. "I'd be honored."

Anne smiled gratefully at him, and Gilbert's heart softened.

At the chime of the clock, however, he stiffened, his heart beating faster. It was five o'clock. A momentary dread swept through him. Marilla, the twins, and Mrs. Lynde would be coming to dinner at six. The thought of seeing Marilla again, the first time since the dreadful proposal, sent literal shivers of fear down Gilbert's spine. He still vividly recalled the shock he felt as Marilla accused his father of breaking her heart, indeed he would likely never forget it. In all his life, a comparison to his beloved father was a compliment he wore with pride. It was not until Marilla's bitter words that such a comparison could be hurled as an insult. And yet Anne had said the reason for their present happiness was because of Marilla. Somehow, Marilla had persuaded Anne to forgive him. But why? And how? And _what_ did his father do to Marilla?

His thoughts were interrupted by his mother entering the parlor. "Gilbert, dear, could you fetch the milk?"

Surprised at his forgetfulness, Gilbert hurried to his feet. "Sorry, Ma, can't believe I forgot." It was then he noticed how Edie nervously twisted a dish towel in her hands.

"I'm sorry," said Anne, also rising. "Let me help you prepare supper, Mrs. Blythe. I nearly forgot, myself."

Edie's anxiety softened at Anne's warmth, and she smiled at her future two went into the kitchen, and Gilbert left for the pasture.

Outside, a frigid gale of dead leaves swept him along to the fields. The cows were huddled together and began lowing at his arrival. Issuing apologies to the herd, he unlatched the gate and guided them to the barnyard. They eagerly trotted toward the barn, where Gilbert pitched fresh straw before milking them. There was little milk, the calves nearly grown and winter approaching. With covered milk pail in hand, he hurried across the barnyard, trying to keep the wind from spilling the milk.

Inside, Anne set the table, while Edie mashed boiled potatoes and Aunt Kitty arranged strawberry tarts on a plate. Fresh rolls from the morning's baking along with cranberry jelly sat ready to be taken to the rarely used dining table. Setting down the milk pail, Gilbert grabbed the rolls and jelly and joined Anne in the dining room. In the doorway, he paused, watching Anne as she smoothed a napkin and laid down a fork. He could scarcely believe that she would soon be his wife, that she would soon live here and share a life with him. Seeing her set the Blythe table made that future life seem simultaneously tangible and arrestingly strange. How could he be this fortunate? Anne looked up at him, her eyes meeting his with a tenderness and affection that Gilbert felt unworthy of. Unable to speak, he wordlessly joined her in preparing the table.

The evening's dinner would be the first gathering of the two families since the engagement a week prior. As untraditional as the proposal was, so too were the family arrangements. No blessing had been given due to Anne proposing, although Gilbert would hardly put it past Anne seeking Edie's permission. His mother would have enjoyed that. With all the chaos surrounding the proposal, little interaction had occured between the families, and this dinner would be the official beginning of the two families uniting. In many ways, Gilbert viewed this dinner as the blessing he neither sought nor received from Marilla. Understandably, his latest encounter with Marilla did not invoke confidence. His only surety lay in Anne's admission that Marilla encouraged Anne's forgiveness and thereby a second chance at happiness. He reminded himself of that fact as his mother carried a glazed ham studded with cloves to the dining table and a knock sounded upon the front door.

Despite Gilbert's nerves, nothing untoward took place during dinner. Even Davy appeared to be on good behavior. Marilla was fairly quiet, gracious when spoken to, and reserved otherwise. Mrs Lynde spoke frequently and with much advisement. Uncle George had come, and the table was filled for the first time in years.

When Aunt Kitty carried a tray of strawberry tarts to the table, Davy surprised all by exclaiming, "The fairies brought the tarts to _you_ instead?"

Regaining his equanimity, Gilbert nodded soberly. "It must have been an unfortunate mistake. I thought the least I could do, Davy, was serve them to you when you came for dinner."

Everyone exchanged confused glances, but Davy was mollified by this explanation and helped himself to several tarts.

As the dinner ended, Gilbert narrowly avoided heaving a sigh of relief. The Green Gables folks and the Fletchers bundled into their coats, and Gilbert found himself smiling and relaxed as he assisted Anne with her coat. He kissed Anne's upturned cheek at the doorway and was about to offer to walk them all home, when Marilla laid a hand on his arm.

"May I speak to you for a moment, Gilbert?"

Anne, Mrs. Lynde, the Fletchers, and the twins paused on the porch.

"Privately," Marilla said softly but firmly, and the Green Gables household and the Fletchers continued onward, darting curious glances back at Marilla and Gilbert remaining on the porch. Edie stood in the open doorway, negligently letting in the cold air, her eyes on the two of them. A strange battle of wills seemed to be taking place between Edie and Marilla, or so Gilbert thought worriedly. After a moment, Edie glanced at Gilbert, nodded, and then retreated inside. Gilbert had no doubt that she lingered at the door, straining to hear them.

As soon as his mother was gone, Marilla said, "I want to apologize to you, Gilbert, for what I said to you… last week."

Stunned, Gilbert managed to say, "It was no more than I deserved."

"No," said Marilla, shaking her head. "It was wrong of me."

"Thank you," Gilbert said, so quietly it was nearly a whisper to himself. More loudly he said, "There's nothing to forgive."

Marilla gave him a small smile. "You're a good lad, Gilbert." She turned away from him and began to descend the porch steps.

Gilbert called out after her. "Wait!" He hurried down the steps. "Miss Cuthbert, Anne said you were the reason she forgave me. May I ask why?"

"Did she?" said Marilla with some surprise. She pursed her lips in thought, before looking up at him. "I learned something about you," she said.

Gilbert looked at her curiously. "What did you learn?"

Marilla adjusted the knitted scarf around her neck. Turning to leave, she called over her shoulder, "Cooking."

Mystified, Gilbert watched her walk away from him. What could she mean? It was yet another mystery regarding Marilla that Gilbert sought to unravel. Curiosity burned within him, especially the heartbreak she spoke of at his father's hands. Ever since his tense encounter with Marilla the previous week, Gilbert had struggled to reconcile her accusation with the man he had known. His own actions with Anne's proposal were the only evidence he had to work with that his father may have done something similarly dreadful in a moment of cowardice and bitterness. Yet Gilbert could only speculate. He had been unexpectedly bold in asking Marilla what changed to have her encourage Anne's forgiveness. He was too intimidated to ask how his father had broken her heart long ago, and he was also hesitant to learn the answer.

Shivering, he glanced back at the house, where his mother would be eager to hear about his conversation with Marilla. Unwilling to disclose what he learned just yet, Gilbert rubbed his arms and headed around the house for the grain shed. He needed to unpack the strange conversation and put his thoughts in order, and he might as well work while he did so. The grain shed was chilly and musty with the smell of grain, and Gilbert fumbled around until he located the shed's lantern and lit it. The lantern illuminated the stacked bundles of oats around him and the little pot belly stove in a clear corner. Gilbert bent to light the stove as well, and then sat in the rickety chair beside it. He pulled a bundle of oats to him and, grasping a good handful of stalks, began to thresh the oats into a waiting barrel. Every night since the oats harvest, Gilbert had sat in the grain shed threshing oats from chaff. After shares of the crop had been provided to those who helped, there was not quite enough left to make a cash crop. It was a shame there would be no money, but the oats would be theirs, seed for future crops, feed for their cows, and food for themselves.

The tap-tap of the stalks being hit against the side of the barrel provided a soft background rhythm to the thoughts that whirled within Gilbert's mind. After some minutes in quiet contemplation, he looked up as the grain shed door opened.

"I thought I might find you here," Edie said as she came in.

"Yeah, sorry, Ma," said Gilbert, dusting off his hands. "Just needed to clear my thoughts. I'll come help wash up."

"No matter," she said, grabbing some oat stalks and starting to thresh the grain into the barrel. "I'll join you."

Gilbert offered her the chair, and then stood by the barrel, each of them taking turns to strike the stalks against the barrel and gather more.

"She apologized?" Edie asked.

"Heard that much, did you?" Gilbert asked with a wry smile.

Edie shrugged. "Whatever do you think she meant by cooking?"

"No idea." Gilbert sighed. "Perhaps she liked my apple cake?"

Edie burst into laughter. "So that's where that cake went! With my market basket, I assume?"

Gilbert laughed a bit awkwardly, but said nothing.

"Well, I'm more than happy to sacrifice my market basket," said Edie. "It's the least I can do for my son's happiness." She grinned at him, and Gilbert grinned back.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading! I wish it hadn't taken me so long to get this chapter posted, but oh well! Thanks for your patience!


	9. Fickle Fortune

Gilbert walked briskly down Charlottetown's main avenue whistling a cheery tune and trying not to think of finances. His visit to Margrave Jewelers just prior had resulted in the arrangement of two rings, one for himself and one with an amethyst for Anne. The silver spoon had been deemed suitable, and Gilbert found himself missing its comforting weight as his hands filled empty pockets. The cost of the amethyst was a bit more than he could afford, but Gilbert impulsively drew a line of credit at the jeweler's and contemplated where he might cut expenses. He glanced down at his once-best shoes. The pair had not fully escaped their plunge into the lake, but were serviceable. New shoes could wait, Gilbert decided, along with various other wants and needs at the Blythe home. If necessary, he would sell a yearling calf or two. His Anne must have her amethyst.

The bustle of the town masked most of his concerns, with the rumble of wagons and shouts from seafarers at the docks. A brisk and biting wind had everyone bundled in the season's first wearing of winter coats on the Island. What had been a sunny morning was rapidly becoming gray and overcast as dark clouds blew in from across the sea. Gilbert suppressed a shiver and picked up his pace. The skies grew gloomier as he walked home, and he eyed them for any sign of sleet, but all remained dry as he reached Avonlea. Green Gables came into view, and Gilbert could not resist stopping to pay his bride a visit.

Dora answered the door and shyly bade him to enter. The house was quiet, yet a strange tension filled the air. Apprehensive, Gilbert looked about for Anne, but only saw Marilla sitting at the kitchen table, rubbing her temples, her eyes clenched with pain.

"Gilbert," she said, without looking up or, indeed, opening her eyes. "I'm afraid Anne has wandered off. Could you go and find her before this storm blows in?"

"Of course," said Gilbert. "Do you know where she might have gone?"

"No," said Marilla shortly. "But I'd be much obliged if you'd find her."

"Yes, Miss Cuthbert," said Gilbert, subdued. He hastened out again.

Outside the Green Gables gate, he paused, thinking of where Anne had gone. The clouds grew thicker overhead as he chose his path and hurried along it. As he jogged, he worried. Had something happened?

Breathing hard, Gilbert slowed as Hester Gray's garden came into view, now a jumble of twisted branches and colorless leaves. He pressed through the clinging vines, coming to the fateful spot where only weeks ago two hearts had broken. Why had he come here? Did he really think that Anne would return here? But there she was, bundled in an overcoat with a scarf wrapped high around her ears. She sat upon the garden's stone bench, teary-eyed and forlorn.

"Anne, whatever is the matter?" asked Gilbert, catching his breath. His heart quailed within him, fearing her desire to leave him.

She looked up at him, surprised by his sudden arrival. Then she sighed and gestured for him to join her. He sat beside her on the cold stone bench and grasped her hand. He watched as she gazed out on the gloomy landscape.

"Matthew always talked about his life insurance," said Anne slowly. Her voice broke, and more tears trickled down her cheeks. "He kept telling us that we would be better taken care of when he was dead than alive."

"Oh, Anne," said Gilbert, squeezing her hand.

"We would tell him it didn't matter, that nothing mattered more than him, living and breathing, and _being_ ," said Anne, nearly choking with her crying. She roughly swiped at her tears. "It was true, we meant every word, still do, but…" She swallowed, gaining her composure. Abruptly, she turned to face Gilbert, her eyes imploring. "But we did feel assurance at the thought of the money. Green Gables is not what it was, and the livelihood it brings is less and less each year."

She sighed again and gave his hand a squeeze. Her eyes drifted away from his, and he watched as her shoulders slumped. Gilbert knew the pain of a failing farm better than most, and he tugged her closer to him to wrap his arms around her.

Nestled against him, she said, "There won't be any money. The insurer can't pay the policy."

"What do you mean?" asked Gilbert, shocked.

Anne sat up within his arms to bring forth a crinkled letter. She gingerly and dejectedly offered it to him, and Gilbert took it into his hands as though it were dangerous. With some trepidation, he read of the failure of Morgan Insurance.

"All of it, everything, just gone," Anne said, sniffling. "I hadn't realized how much we were expecting the money, until it ceased to exist."

A leaden feeling filled his core, and Gilbert removed his hat to twist it anxiously in his hands. Anne took the letter back again, gazing at it with a melancholy that pierced his heart. Until this moment, he had not known nor cared about a Cuthbert life insurance policy. A distressing thought entered his mind that if Roy Gardner were Anne's fiancé, none of this would matter. Roy could fulfill more financial security than any life insurance policy and more. But because she was engaged to Gilbert, the loss of the money was devastating. Gilbert couldn't fix this, but he found himself asking anway.

"Can anything be done? Is there anything I can do?"

Anne brushed away her tears with trembling hands. "We might have to let Jean-Michel go… and rent out the land. Sell some livestock. Marilla is planning to take in boarders." She hesitated, her eyes downcast. "As much as a springtime wedding appeals to me, would a winter wedding be objectionable?"

Gilbert turned to her in surprise. His heart beat fast within him. "Winter?" The season was nigh upon them.

Anne's cheeks reddened, but she nodded. "Think of it, darling. Of course, it could not be outside, but a cozy parlor wedding at Green Gables? It would just add to the festivities of Christmas and New Year. Then we could begin our lives that much sooner."

He drew her into his arms as he thrilled to her words. "I long for nothing more," he murmured. He straightened and looked earnestly into her eyes. "You truly wish to marry so soon? People will talk."

"People will always talk," Anne replied with a smile. Then she sobered. "I just can't stop thinking how Matthew won't be there. It matters little to me what others think. Anymore, at least."

"And this will help Green Gables?" asked Gilbert.

Anne sighed and nodded. "If we marry sooner, it will provide another room at Green Gables for boarders." She smiled ruefully. "And there would be one less mouth to feed."

"Anne, you can't think like that," Gilbert admonished. "You're not a burden - to Green Gables or to me. But if you think marrying earlier would help, it makes my dreams for us come to fruition that much sooner." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. She relaxed into his touch.

They remained there quietly for a few moments, holding one another. The request for a winter wedding had startled Gilbert from his thoughts about Roy and his wealth, but in the silence of their embrace, the thoughts crept back into his mind. He could just imagine a jovial Roy assuring his wife that no life insurance policy was needed, that he would care for and protect them all. Then Gilbert envisioned a Roy with flashing eyes hunting down Morgan Insurance executives and demanding justice with a battalion of lawyers. Of course, neither option existed for Gilbert, however much he longed to cocoon Anne and her loved ones in luxury and demand retribution from the insurance company. A bitter wind whistled through the tangled vines, kicking up a whirlwind of dead leaves. Anne shivered.

"Let's get you home and warm," said Gilbert, emerging from his thoughts. He gently rose and offered her his hand. Together, they left the garden to its winter slumber, heading for Green Gables.

They walked slowly through shorn fields and barren hollows. "I hope that snow will come soon," said Anne with another shiver.

"Not too soon," said Gilbert, glancing at the darkening clouds.

"I would hate if our wedding occurred on a day like this," Anne said, gesturing at the barren landscape. "A grim wasteland. There MUST be snow on a day as cherished and romantic as our wedding."

"Do you think your college friends will be able to come with a sooner wedding date?"

With some awkwardness, Anne said, "I don't know. My friend, Alice Henderson, would probably try to come." She shook her head, hesitating. "But Clarissa and Pauline… they were quite upset with me about refusing Roy." She shook her head again. "I don't think our friendship will repair." Despite thinking of Dorothy Gardner, Anne remained silent.

Gilbert's heart shrank within his chest. He recognized the names from their correspondence during Anne's Redmond years, but he had not been aware of the falling out that had occurred due to Roy. He was beginning to realize how little he knew Anne during their time apart, no matter how many letters they sent to one another. Why had they not discussed this? But Gilbert knew why. The last time Roy was mentioned Gilbert had very nearly driven Anne away forever. He feared to speak of Roy again. So instead, he spoke of other things.

"What date shall we choose?" he asked.

Anne contemplated her answer. "Before Christmas?" she posed.

Gilbert's heart began a rapid tempo. So soon! "My Uncle Dave and Aunt Katherine had planned to come visit for New Year, but we'll persuade them to come earlier."

Anne laughed. "I would dislike having to share a honeymoon with them!

Gilbert grinned. "Never." The thought of honeymooning with Anne sent his heart racing further.

"Oh, darling," said Anne, sighing. "A snowy and cozy winter wedding!" She glanced coyly at him. "And a honeymoon hibernation to follow."

Gilbert gulped audibly. Life suddenly seemed surreal. Could this truly be happening to him? Conversation dwindled, and Gilbert found himself stumbling frequently as they walked, lost in his thoughts, yet thinking no thoughts at all. He dazedly realized that they had arrived at Green Gables, and he came back to himself as Anne pressed her lips to his.

"You've cheered me so, my love," she said to him. "The loss of the life insurance doesn't cut quite so deep."

Gilbert nodded and found his voice. "Anything for you, Anne-girl."

They agreed to reunite the next day to finalize a wedding date, and then Gilbert walked home alone, thoughts and plans tumbling about in his mind. Could the house be repainted in time? Gilbert had also planned on repainting the barn, but that would be impossible in winter weather and the short timeframe. He suddenly recalled his errand earlier that day, and he stopped abruptly at the thought of whether or not the rings could be made in time for the wedding. No, the rings had to be finished by then, Gilbert assured himself, continuing to walk on. They had to be. His concerns regarding finances surged to the front of his mind, and he looked down at his once-best shoes as he walked along. There could be no delay in wants or needs at the Blythe homestead now. The yearlings must be sold. All must be in readiness for his bride.

Arriving home, Gilbert led the cows from the pasture into the barn. Made comfortable with straw and grain, the cows settled for the night. Gilbert paused by one of the yearlings and patted its head, stroking between its ears and budding horns. The yearling butted against Gilbert's shoulder, enjoying the affection, and Gilbert felt a pang of loss at the thought of selling the animal. Another yearling pushed forward for attention as well, and Gilbert recalled the sweet, shy calves they had once been.

Feeling rather morose about the yearlings, Gilbert did the milking and headed to the house through the squalling storm that had arrived while he had been in the barn. He did his best to keep the cloth covering the milk in place as he dashed through a barrage of hail. At last safe under the cover of the back porch, Gilbert shook off the hail and stomped his feet on the door mat. Inside was mercifully warm and cozy, and a piping hot apple pie sat cooling on the kitchen table.

"Oh, there you are," said Edie coming up from the cellar with a wheel of cheese. "Did the storm get you?"

Gilbert shook his head, setting down the milk pail. "The arrangements have been made for the rings."

"Wonderful!" Edie exclaimed. She held the cheese aloft. "I thought we'd celebrate a little."

"Mother," said Gilbert, as she set down the cheese and searched for a knife. "Anne and I would like to marry sooner. Before Christmas."

Edie froze, looking up in surprise. "Why?"

Gilbert sighed, sitting down at the table, where Edie joined him. Her hazel eyes grew limpid and tearful as Gilbert spoke of the life insurance.

"Oh, the poor dears," she said, dabbing at her eyes with a corner of her apron. "And that damned company," she added, seething.

Gilbert's eyebrows rose, but he agreed unequivocally.

Edie sighed, subdued once more. Her hand found her son's. "It makes me think of us, a bit," she said. "Of course we couldn't afford such insurance, and poor John would never have been approved with his health. But we're not the only ones with hardships."

Gilbert nodded, his throat tight.

The two discussed preparations and possible wedding dates as they dined on sharp cheddar cheese and apple pie. The wind howled outside, and a mad tapping of hail ricocheted off the windows.

"Well, I'm glad you're finally come to the conclusion that you need a new, fine pair of shoes," said Edie. "It's high time you did."

"Well, at least I've already got a fine suit to wear," said Gilbert with a smile, thinking of the suit his mother had made for a different dream years ago.

Tears welled up in Edie's eyes. "To think of you wearing that suit for your wedding!" She laughed. "You thought you would! Although I thought you'd wear it for a courtship. You and Anne have always done everything your own way."

Gilbert laughed, although it felt a bit painful, thinking of Anne proposing to him in her mourning blacks while he wore work clothes and farm boots. The memory of the disastrous proposal was a little too recent to think of with any fondness.

The next morning, both mother and son walked to church. The storm had blown over, and sunshine had returned. The service was uneventful, as many of the young ladies displeased over the engagement had ceased directing glares toward the Blythe pew. Anne had joined Gilbert and Edie in their pew the past two weeks to the temporary ire of some. However, resentment had mostly cooled, and greetings were given with more sincerity.

Following the service, the Blythes joined the Green Gables folks on their walk home. Over a Sunday dinner of roast chicken, the families settled on a wedding day a week prior to Christmas. All was joyful over the dinner table, even more so when a cake was placed before Gilbert at the meal's end for his birthday later that week. A chorus of "he's a jolly good fellow" filled Gilbert's ears and then his heart as he watched Marilla contribute with enthusiasm.

The high spirits lasted throughout the following week. Gilbert's birthday came and went with more happiness than he had felt regarding the occasion in years. Wedding plans commenced, and Gilbert and Anne met with the Allens to request a marriage service. Reverend Allen easily agreed, and both the Reverend and Mrs. joyously congratulated the couple. Invitations (and a couple of telegrams) were sent soon thereafter to a small group of extended family and friends. It was a full week to say the least, with a birthday celebration and a plethora of wedding plans. By the end of the week, the couple's hands were cramped and ink-splattered from writing invitations. As the urgent wedding preparations were finalized, Gilbert turned his attention to readying the Blythe home.

Little more than month lay between now and the wedding. Gilbert and Edie hatched an ambitious plan to tackle updates for the old farmhouse. As much as they both wanted to renovate the entire Blythe property, only updates to the house would be feasible, and even limited restorations at that. They scrubbed and dusted and decluttered. Big buckets of whitewash were mixed and applied to the dingy walls throughout the house, freshening and brightening them until the house seemed almost new. Old furniture was polished with beeswax until it shined. They blacked the kitchen stove and bleached the curtains. Neither Gilbert nor Edie had realized how neglected and dreary the house had become during the years of illness and grief. With their attentions, the old farmhouse interior was nearly unrecognizable, it felt so clean and fresh and new.

On a wintery evening in early December, Gilbert led the yearlings to the Sloane homestead. The substantial and newly-built Victorian house loomed in the darkness as Gilbert approached, the yearlings following him trustingly. The driveway was full of buggies, and Gilbert wondered why Hiram Sloane would arrange a meeting while hosting dinner guests. He tied the yearlings alongside a blanketed pair of chestnut horses that Gilbert recognized as belonging to Harmon Andrews. Steeling himself to face the Sloanes and guests within, Gilbert walked up the porch steps and knocked on the front door.

A wizened, elderly man answered his knock, muttering unintelligibly. (Old Archibald Sloane, Charlie's great grandfather, had not said a word understood by anyone for the past decade, except for "no" and "fruitcake"). Gilbert walked into the foyer, politely removing his cap, as the sound of conversation and laughter came from the formal dining room adjacent. Gilbert followed Old Archie as he trotted to the dining room where the senior members of the Sloane, Andrews, and Barry families were enjoying an elaborate meal.

"Our intrepid school master," said Hiram Sloane, rising to his feet at the head of the table. "Have you come with the steers then, Gilbert?"

"Yes," said Gilbert. He was painfully aware of his rough work clothes and patched coat compared to the evening finery of the Sloanes and their dinner guests. Perhaps Hiram felt vengeful regarding the Sloanes' embarrassment from the apple picking party. A quick glance revealed that Charlie was nowhere to be seen. No Diana either.

All business, Hiram promptly (and rudely) abandoned the dinner table to inspect the yearlings. In the frigid driveway, he silently examined the yearlings' teeth and hooves. When satisfied, he handed over the agreed-upon sum to Gilbert, and then just as abruptly as he had abandoned his dinner guests, he left Gilbert outside, standing beside the yearlings. Despite his lifelong familiarity with Sloanishness, Gilbert blinked in surprise as the front door snapped shut.

Unsure what to do, but certain that he did not want the yearlings to be left tied outside all night, Gilbert led the young steers to the barn beyond the house. The barn was warm and comforting, and he settled the yearlings with straw and feed. Once finished, he found himself lingering in the barn, loathe to leave, stroking the animals' velvety ears. Their gentle eyes watched him, and his throat grew tight. After some minutes, he gave one final pat each to the yearlings.

"Thank you," he said simply, and began the walk home.

He wrapped his scarf higher around his ears as he walked. The money felt strange in his pocket, but it would pay for the rings, new shoes, and much more.

"Neither a borrower nor a lender be," he quoted softly to himself, then added knowingly, "If you can help it."

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews and private messages! I appreciate your patience in how long it's been taking me to post chapters. It's been hard to find the time to write. I'm committed to this story, though, and I can't wait for the next few chapters! 3


	10. House of Dreams

The Fletcher's farm horse stamped his feathered feet against the frozen ground and whickered softly. It was a crisp and cold winter evening with clear skies and shining stars. A splash of warm and inviting light shone from the open front door of Green Gables as Gilbert carried a large box to the waiting wagon. Anne hurried along after him, her arms laden with a tobacco-stripe quilt and another of apple-leaf. Gilbert carefully set the box down beside the others already in the wagon, and a shivering Anne added the quilts.

"Is that everything, sweetheart?" asked Gilbert.

"Just need the geraniums," Anne said, her teeth chattering.

"My wood sprite must have her flowers," said Gilbert with a smile. "And a coat would also be a good idea." He wrapped his arm around her and walked her back to the cozy house.

Inside, Anne ran to all the windowsills bedecked with pots of geraniums until her arms were filled with the fiery red blooms. Gilbert laughed at the spectacle and helped her organize the pots into a crate.

"There, that should be everything," she said a bit breathlessly.

"Not quite," said Marilla, seeming to materialize in the entryway beside Gilbert, who jumped a bit. "Don't forget the braided rugs." She gestured to the parlor where half a dozen rolled up rugs lay neatly waiting.

"I would rather have them than anything else for our floors," said Anne. "They are so pretty."

Was Marilla blushing, Gilbert wondered, watching with some amazement.

"I made them of the nicest rags, and braided them in stripes," said Marilla proudly, smiling at Anne. "They've been stored in the garret for some months now. I'm real glad to let you have them."

"Thank you, Miss Cuthbert," said Gilbert, going to fetch them. He heaved the rolled rugs onto his shoulder. "They're just the thing for wintertime."

The braided rugs were loaded onto the wagon along with the crate of geraniums, carefully covered with canvas to protect from the cold on the short drive to the Blythe home. Anne, now snug in a wool coat, accepted a hand from Gilbert to climb onto the wagon seat. A small commotion came from the front door, and they turned to see Mrs. Lynde hurrying out after them, as Marilla and the twins watched from the porch.

"Now, Gilbert," said Mrs. Lynde as she caught up to them. "Is your mother at home?"

"Yes," Gilbert lied easily. "Of course."

Mrs. Lynde pursed her lips, but nodded. "Very well. You two," she said pointing a finger at each of them in turn. "Be circumspect. You aren't wed until Saturday."

Gilbert got into the wagon beside Anne and chirped to the horse. The wagon rumbled away, the horse eager for a warm stable.

"We'll expect you back by nine, Anne!" Mrs. Lynde called out after them.

"Of course!" Anne called back, just as easily as Gilbert. She nestled close to Gilbert as the two drove off into the darkness.

A world-weary Mrs. Lynde walked slowly back up to the house. The cheek of that Gilbert Blythe, she thought to herself. Rachel knew very well that Edie Blythe had moved to the Fletchers' house four days ago. She had heard the news straight from the Fletchers' hired man, Pacifique. At least the couple would be married shortly, Rachel reminded herself. A long engagement would really be beyond them. Hoping for the best, Mrs. Lynde vowed extra prayers tonight for a certain couple's chastity.

The couple in question was certainly not taking any pains to maintain chastity. Lips locked, Gilbert drove only in principle, letting the horse take the initiative. Gilbert surfaced in time to guide the horse to the Blythe homestead instead of its natural path in returning to the Fletchers' barn. Arriving in front of the Blythe house, Gilbert brought the horse to a halt and helped his bride-to-be disembark. He led her up the porch steps and into the dark house.

"Place your things wherever you like, Anne," said Gilbert as he lit a gas lamp. He hurried into the parlor to light another before hastening outside again to begin bringing in Anne's possessions.

When he returned with the geraniums and the quilts, Anne was standing beside the parlor fireplace gazing at the small daguerreotype of John Blythe on the mantle. Gilbert set down the items and came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her.

"He'd be so happy for us," murmured Gilbert. "He hoped we would find each other."

"Did he?" asked Anne, turning within his arms to face him.

Gilbert nodded and pressed his lips to hers. They kissed leisurely for some moments, before Gilbert reluctantly pulled away.

"I better finish unloading so I can stable Uncle George's horse," he said regretfully. "The poor beast needs to get in the warm."

"Of course," said Anne drawing away. "I'll start placing the geraniums."

Gilbert quickly unloaded the rest of the boxes, hurrying back and forth from the wagon to the house. Once complete, he led the horse to the Blythe barn where he unhitched the faithful steed. Spending some extra time to thank the horse for his patience, Gilbert rubbed the horse down and settled him with straw and grain beside the curious cows. Upon returning to the house, he found Anne in the entry sorting through boxes. Geraniums bloomed brightly along the windowsills of the parlor and kitchen. The kitchen stove glowed with warmth, and a crackling fire filled the parlor grate.

"Which room will be ours?" asked Anne.

"This way," he said, his heart thumping. He led her upstairs, his arms laden with a trunk of her clothes. Anne followed with the quilts and a few more geraniums.

He passed the bedroom that had been his since childhood, now no more than a modest spare room. At the doorway of the room that had belonged to his father and mother, he paused, allowing Anne to enter the room first. A spell seemed to have fallen upon them as they came into the room they would soon share. Suddenly cautious with one another, Gilbert had the strange feeling that his senses had been heightened, every blink, every touch, every sound had become visceral and raw. The room crackled with an energy that encouraged wariness.

The lone window was swathed in muslin curtains, and Anne tiptoed across the room to pull them aside and peer out. The window looked upon the edge of the Haunted Wood, mysterious and fairytale-like in the starry darkness. Nodding her head in satisfaction, she turned toward Gilbert who was carefully setting the trunk down by the his-and-hers armoires along one wall.

"This one is yours," said Gilbert gesturing to the better of the two armoires.

"Thank you," she said softly. Her eyes fell on the large bed, and she grazed her fingers along the quilt upon it. "This quilt is lovely. Mrs. Lynde's quilts can go in the spare rooms."

"My grandmother made it," said Gilbert, his heartbeat thrumming in his ears. "Together with my grandfather, actually. He secretly loved sewing."

Anne gave him such a lovely smile that his breath caught. She came to the trunk and knelt beside it, and Gilbert's heartbeat ratcheted up. Opening the trunk, she rummaged through its contents, her cheeks flushed and her eyes downcast. Gilbert knelt down next to her, Anne's eyes flashed up to his, and the spell was broken.

All Gilbert registered was their lips crashing together with a passion stronger than they had yet experienced. He heard a dull thud and realized that he had knocked aside the heavy trunk. Anne's hands were upon him, stroking and caressing, her lips kissing his jawline. He swept her gently to the floor, where she lay before him. Her eyes were ablaze with desire, and he was certain his had no less ardor. He was alight, aglow, ablaze for her.

Those fiery grey eyes tugged him forward, and then her lips, "Oh, Gil, don't stop. Please."

With a groan of longing, he pressed himself against her, his lips finding purchase against the swell of her breasts. Anne's scrambling hands clumsily yanked at her shirtwaist. One button pinged off then another. Her throat and cleavage now lay bare, and Gilbert feverishly kissed the tender skin. His own hands found the edge of her skirt, rucked up in the fervor, and slipped beneath it. Trailing his fingers up her stocking-clad leg, he hitched the skirt and subsequent petticoat higher, past a red ribbon garter. Drawers edged in simple lace belaid him not, his hand sliding under them to feel the soft and supple thigh.

Anne had undone his collar and most of the buttons on his shirt. Her hands now felt in fascination the chest hair she had first glimpsed that midsummer eve. His sculpted chest invited her fingers to disrobe him further, and she pulled at his shirtsleeves.

Gilbert thrilled to her every touch and sigh. In two days, this vixen would be his wife. Only two days.

Two days.

The thought reverberated through him. Had he waited half his life to succumb to temptation now only _two days_ before their marriage under God and law? Through the haze of lust, the thought jarred him enough to sit up and withdraw his hand from her thigh.

Anne paused her attempts to remove his shirt. "My love?" she asked, confused.

"I think we should stop," said Gilbert shakily, still not fully in control of his desire to ravish her. She lay so beautiful and wanton before him.

A dark red flush of shame and embarrassment suffused Anne's face. She nodded, drawing her knees together and clutching her blouse to her bosom.

"Anne," said Gilbert softly, sensing her anger, yet feeling a tentative relief at her frustration. The lustful moment had fled for both of them.

"No, you're right," she said, sitting up, but she would not look at him. She tried to button her blouse and came to the missing buttons.

"Perhaps we can find you another shirt," said Gilbert. He righted the trunk and pulled back the lid.

"No," said Anne slowly, "Mrs. Lynde and Marilla will know. I only have a few items that are not mourning blacks."

Gilbert sat back on his heels, his own shirt awry. "Let's find the buttons," he said, thinking. "I can sew them on for you while you arrange your things."

Anne's eyes finally looked up. "You could sew my buttons on for me?"

"Of course, Anne-girl," said Gilbert with a grin. "I'm a man of many talents." He winked at the bed's coverlet. "Not unlike my grandfather."

Anne was smiling now, too. "Alright," she said softly. Then she was removing her blouse.

Gilbert's mouth went dry. Quite unable to look away, he watched as the shirt came free. Two days seemed interminably long, he thought, his eyes on her corset, chemise, and cleavage. She tossed him the shirt, which just fell uncaught into his lap. He shook himself free from his reverie to help her search for the buttons, which were quickly found. Regretfully leaving Anne in the bedroom, Gilbert took the shirt and buttons downstairs to find a needle and thread.

By the light of the gaslamp at the kitchen table, Gilbert carefully sewed the two buttons back in place, while Anne scurried about the house, placing her possessions where she wished them to go. After he tied the final knot, he joined her in unpacking.

The winter moon was high in the heavens, long past nine o'clock, when they finished. Hand in hand, they walked through the house, surveying their new home. Striped rugs in pleasing colors covered the old wooden floors, geraniums bloomed from nearly every windowsill, Mrs. Lynde's quilts lay upon the spare room beds, and a new cluster of photographs joined John Blythe's on the parlor mantle. Anne's clothes were now neatly hung or folded in her armoire, and several knickknack treasures were scattered on shelves throughout the house. One of the inevitable Blythe cats had found the parlor rug very agreeable, and was now curled up asleep in front of the fire.

Anne gave a tremendous sigh. "Oh, I am pleased, Gilbert darling. I think we'll make this place our house of dreams yet!"

"Do you really think so, Anne?" Gilbert asked, not voicing how deeply her words had affected him.

"Hearth, home, and husband -" said Anne gaily.

"And a fireside cat," added Gilbert, as the cat stirred and stretched.

" - Are the stuff of dreams, indeed," said Anne with shining eyes. "I knew as soon as I saw the Haunted Wood and a sliver of the Lake of Shining Waters beyond the bedroom window. I have found my house of dreams and no other."

"Darling girl!" Gilbert exclaimed, grasping her by the waist and twirling her around. Anne laughed, and he kissed her soundly as he set her down.

It was a joyful and jubilant couple who walked back to Green Gables, their happiness only furthered by the gentle snowfall that greeted them upon their exit of the Blythe farmhouse. The dark and frozen ground welcomed the soft, white powder along with Anne and Gilbert, who felt the romance of the wintery wonderland assembling around them. Anne, who had anxiously feared a snowless wedding, was alright with happiness, her eyes as starry as the star-filled skies above them. It was a sad and tender parting at the Green Gables gate, appeased only by the thought of never having to do so again two days hence.

All was quiet when Gilbert returned to the Blythe house, the hush of snowfall reflected in the silence of a still and empty house. That would change when Anne came, Gilbert reminded himself. Anne's things now filled the home, only the bride was missing. He wandered through the house with candle in hand, observing the welcome changes as he banked the fires. Retiring to the upstairs for the night, he looked in on the bedroom where they had so nearly been carried away by passion. He would not sleep there yet, the room a shrine to the married love of generations. His grandfather and grandmother, his mother and father. Now he and Anne would have their turn. Perhaps Anne was right, he thought, as he gently closed the bedroom door, this place could very well be a house of dreams. It would certainly house the culmination of a dream.

He crawled into the bed in his old room, snug under the industrious sewing of Mrs. Lynde, and gazed out the window at the falling snow. The room no longer seemed to be his, devoid of the trappings of his youth. It had become a blank canvas for new possibilities. Anne could do with it what she liked, or perhaps a child could call it their own. Would he and Anne be blessed with children? His parents and aunt and uncle had struggled and grieved for children. Would the same fate await him and Anne?

He had no brothers or sisters and no cousins. Yet he did have aunts and uncles, all currently ensconced at the Fletcher's house across the way. Gilbert smiled to himself, glad to be apart from the crowded and contentious conditions there. His Aunt Mary Maria had arrived the day prior and had already worn out her welcome. His Four Winds relatives had arrived earlier in the day, along with their four fox terriers and a cello by the name of Dulcinea. It was certainly a full house.

Aunt Katherine was an accomplished cellist, and she had offered to provide the music for the wedding. She was known to refer to the cello as 'Lady D,' which irked Aunt Mary Maria to no end (much to Katherine's amusement). Mary Maria could not decide which was worse, that Katherine was a _suffragist_ or that she had _named her cello_. Both were beyond the pale in Mary Maria's estimation.

The fact that she had to share a house with _animals_ also sent Mary Maria into conniptions. The four fox terriers and numerous cats largely kept her confined to the spare room or parlor, where she kept the pets at bay with high-pitched screams. Gilbert was certainly glad to be apart from such melodrama, and he made a mental note to rescue a few more cats during the next day's wedding preparations.

Doctor Dave and Aunt Katherine had found happiness in cherished pets and music, childless though they were. Gilbert was unsure if they were seeking solace, or if they had never minded their lack of children. As his eyes drifted closed, he idly wondered if he and Anne would likewise invest in pets and hobbies should children never come. Gilbert drifted off to sleep as a cat wandered into the room. It leapt lightly onto the bed and, with great determination, began to knead its claws into Mrs. Rachel Lynde's apple leaf spread.

* * *

A/N: I'm so so sorry for the delay in posting! There's really no excuse, except that I took an unexpected summer hiatus (well, quite a bit longer than just summer)! It has been rather difficult finding the time or energy to prioritize writing… still is, frankly! Thank you for your patience and the lovely messages! It means so much to me, thank you. I'll do my best to post more regularly!


	11. Wedding Eve

Anne's POV

 _Friday, December 18, 1885_

 _Dearest Diary,_

 _I set pen to page on this early morning, the day before our wedding. 'Tis the wee sma's, darkness lies over the Island, along with a thick fleecy blanket of snow! My fervent prayers for snow have been answered! Hopefully that was not a sacrilege, but I cannot bear the thought of a winter wedding without snow. Can you imagine, dear Diary? A snowy, white wedding is so romantic, and I am so thankful that the heavens have finally sent a whole host of snowflakes upon dear old Avonlea._

 _I am filled with happiness from the tips of my toes to my (unfortunately) very red hair that I am soon to be Gilbert's wife. I love him so dearly, and I am almost frightened that I should be so happy. Surely no more ill fortune will beset us? But it is true, the more dear your people are to you, the more you fear losing them. Matthew was such a one, yet to lose Gilbert… no, I won't envision it, if only to avoid inviting dread._

 _I only just returned from arranging my things at my soon-to-be home, and I have a confession, dear Diary. My passion for Gilbert led me to nearly lose my maidenhood this very night. I shudder to think that we could have… No, Diary, I must be true to you and entrust my secrets to your pages, however depraved they might be. You see, the truth is that I am not ashamed of what nearly occurred. There. I have written it. In fact, I rather regret that Gilbert ended our embrace, and my only shame lies in the embarrassment that he stopped us. How scandalous I am! What a relief it is that our wedding is tomorrow with no further delay._

Anne set aside her pen, and with a sigh, looked out the gable window at the dark world filled with swirling snowflakes. Propping her chin upon her hands, she gazed out at the snowy spectacle, building dreams as of yore. It was some time before she looked away, her eyes then settling on a white gown hung carefully beside the bed. Mrs. Lynde had reworked her daughter's wedding dress for Anne to wear. Mirabel's wedding had been more than a decade prior, but Rachel's deft fingers had altered the dress to the latest fashion. The dress was an elegant affair, albeit more simple than the swaths of lace, silk and seed pearls that bedecked wealthier brides.

Anne gently touched one of the dress's satin roses. Despite the winter, she would have white roses one way or another. Tears came to her eyes as she recalled the first pretty dress she had worn, a brown gloria, also sewn by Mrs. Lynde. A rush of gratitude swept through Anne, and brushing away tears, she sat again at her table to write.

 _I'll forever be grateful to Mrs. Lynde and her daughter Mirabel for my wedding dress, and I feel rather guilty for my less-than charitable thoughts I have had toward Mrs. Lynde at one time or another. Without them, I'm not sure what I would have worn. But because of them, I have a beautiful wedding dress, white as the snowfall gracing Avonlea, trimmed with satin roses, ready to make me a wife. With Mirabel's permission, Mrs. Lynde's deft fingers fearlessly cut and altered Mirabel's wedding dress to become my own. I shall carry a bouquet of holly and evergreens, which I will gather today with dear friends._

 _My friend from Redmond days, Alice Henderson, arrives this afternoon, to stay at Green Gables for the wedding weekend. Diana will come over as well, and I plan to have a day held sacred to girlish fancies. I wish I could also have my other dear friends here today, but Stella will arrive on the morrow, and Jane and Priscilla were unable to attend on such short notice. Jane is in Winnipeg and Priscilla is in Montreal. Dear Ruby is in God's city, beyond our reach. At least, it will be wonderful to see Alice and Stella again. My other Redmond friends declined to attend._ (Large inkblot). _I also wish that I could have Dorothy here, but of course, as Roy's sister, that would be inappropriate._

Anne heaved a sigh, thinking of her lost friendships. But any regret she had was surpassed by the relief she felt. Gilbert was hers, and a marriage with Roy would never be. The rightness in her heart sang this truth. She and Gilbert belonged together, and tomorrow they would be man and wife. Her heart felt ready to burst at the thought. Could anything be more delightful than a wedding to the man you love, only one day hence? Yes, a wedding _today_ , of course! At least, a day with bosom friends would be a very welcome distraction. Her mind filled with all the 'girlish fancies' such a day could bring, and she once again set pen to page.

 _I should very much like to introduce Alice to all our favorite haunts, should the weather permit. And a lovely afternoon tea to welcome her to Green Gables. Diana, of course, will also be there, and we can reminisce about our girlhood. Today shall be a day to celebrate cherished friendships. I expect to be very 'blithe' indeed!_

Several hours later, a frazzled Anne could not be said to be very blithe as a certain Mr. Blythe knocked upon the kitchen's back door. Only somewhat less frazzled than her bosom friend, Diana answered the knock, and Gilbert looked in on the kitchen melee as he doffed his hat. A commotion of cooking and baking and cleaning filled the kitchen and the rest of the house, with all the Green Gables women (and Diana) hard at work. Anne clutched her arm, sore from beating egg whites, and looked at Gilbert with alarm.

"Gil, surely it's not yet time to fetch Alice?!"

Gilbert rubbed the back of his neck ruefully. "I'm afraid we're actually a bit late, sweetheart. Got swept up in the wedding preparations at the Fletcher's and lost track of time. We'd better hurry."

"Oh dear," moaned Anne, hurriedly setting aside the egg whites. No afternoon tea to speak of! And the house and bride herself were far from presentable! Anne ran from the kitchen in search of her hat and coat, patting frantically at her hair. Diana hastened after her, and they hastily put on their coats in the entry.

"Oh, Diana, I am sorry," said Anne breathlessly as she fastened her hat. "I hadn't planned on putting you to work!"

"Don't you worry," said Diana, pulling on her gloves. "I'm happy to help. Hold still a moment."

Anne paused in flustered confusion. Diana deftly wiped away a streak of flour from Anne's cheek.

"There, all ready," said Diana with a smile.

"What would I do without you?" Anne exclaimed.

"Very well, I should think," said Diana reassuringly, but immensely pleased all the same.

As the two young women came back into the kitchen, Mrs. Lynde said, "Don't you fret, Anne, we'll have things ship-shape before your return. I had ten children married off, and I know better than anybody what to do."

"I won't deny that Rachel has had her share of wedding experience, which we will certainly rely on," said Marilla wryly. "We'll have Green Gables respectable and ready. But perhaps, Gilbert, it would be best to keep the horse to a walk on the way back."

Gilbert grinned. "Will do, Miss Cuthbert."

The trio hurried through the back door, nearly colliding with Davy, who clutched two freshly plucked chickens by the feet as he came up the porch steps. After a few precarious moments, Davy entered the kitchen, and Gilbert helped Anne and Diana into the waiting sleigh.

"Oh, the first sleigh ride of the year!" said Diana happily, settling into the backseat with Anne.

Anne was still too preoccupied by the frenzy of the day. Had any stray chicken feathers landed on her? She really could not bear the thought on top of everything else!

Gilbert chirped to the Fletcher's horse, and off to the train station they went, bells jingling. At the sound, Anne gave a squeal of delight. With shining eyes, she realized the enchantment of the snowy afternoon, and her concerns blew away in the wintry wind. She clasped hands with Diana and called out her gratitude to Gilbert, who laughed.

"I can't believe you didn't hear the bells as I drove up to Green Gables," he said with a wink. "But nobody could hear me knock at the front door, either!"

Alice Henderson was a sophisticated and solitary figure at the edge of the Carmody train station's platform. Dressed in an elegant winter coat with fur trim and a velvet hat, she drew much interest from the other travelers clustered in the warmth of the station's indoor waiting area.

"Probably thinks she's too good to associate with the likes of us in here," said a Mrs. Hodge from Long River, enviously admiring Alice's jaunty velvet hat.

Alice was quite content at the edge of the platform, as _her_ interest lay in observing this island she had heard so much about. The quaint town of Carmody gave way to delightful, rolling white hills and a thicket of evergreens from which a snowy lane emerged. Upon this lane, a horse-drawn sleigh made swift progress, bells jingling, toward the train station where Alice waited.

An orphan herself, Alice had been raised by her inordinately wealthy uncle who had bestowed her with riches, but not love. Her lonely heart had opened to Anne's effusive overtures of friendship with a loyalty unshaken by the refusal of Roy Gardener. Anne had been a rejuvenating force in Alice's life, and Alice had thrived in her company, breaking free of her loneliness and embracing life with a newfound joy. After a freshman year of friendship, Alice had brought Anne to live in the house she rented on Spofford Avenue. Too proud to accept outright, Anne had chosen the smallest bedroom and paid for its value. The two had rounded out their circle of friends with Anne's Queens friends (Stella Maynard and Priscilla Gordon) and new friends Clarissa Patterson, Pauline Adams, and Roy's sister Dorothy Gardner. As much as Anne had hoped otherwise, the new friendships had fractured over Anne's refusal of Roy. Except for Alice.

Alice's eyes lit up as the sleigh approached the train station and a merry trio disembarked. One of the ladies had unmistakably red hair, and in a welcome breach of etiquette, Alice ran joyfully to greet her friend.

"Anne!"

"Alice!"

The two embraced, all bright smiles and happy chatter.

"How GOOD it is to see you!"

"It's been AGES."

"I've missed you so!"

"I hope you've not been waiting long!"

"Not at all!" cried Alice as they drew apart. Blushing at her exuberance, she looked shyly over at the man and woman beside them.

"You _must_ be Miss Barry," said Alice, ingrained propriety returning to her. "And _you_ must be Mr. Blythe."

Gilbert smiled and removed his hat. "Guilty as charged."

"How do you do," said Diana politely, narrowly avoiding a curtsy, as if to royalty. She felt so discomfited beside the exceedingly elegant Alice. It was almost as if a swan had come upon a hen. From Anne's description of Alice, Diana knew that she would have fine feathers, but it is one thing to hear about it and entirely another to behold it.

"Are these your bags?" Gilbert asked, gesturing to the trunk and valise beside her.

"Yes, thank you," said Alice. "But I will take my valise."

Diana was momentarily surprised by how little Alice had brought with her. Alice picked up her valise and held it carefully as Anne linked arms with her and then Diana. Holding Alice's trunk, Gilbert led the way to the sleigh, allowing Alice to observe him fully for the first time as she followed with Anne and Diana. He cut a dashing sight, and Alice glanced at Anne to see the bride's own admiring eyes upon her intended. Smiling to herself, Alice felt that she finally understood why Anne could not marry Roy.

Anne herself was feeling all the blithe feelings that she had hoped to feel this day. The sleigh flew over the white lane, the bells jingled, and Gilbert gave her a roguish wink that sent her heart aflutter. The afternoon was clear and frosty, all the better to be enjoyed by a sleighful of young folks. The evergreen pointed firs stood up with snow powdering their branches and the wind whistling through them. Anne thought it was truly delightful to go skimming through all this wintry loveliness with your bosom friends and your lover. She gave a shiver of happiness as Gilbert's free hand found hers.

The sleigh made good progress - too good, for Marilla's request - and so they stopped when they came upon a bountiful holly bush. With Gilbert's pocket knife, they cut the best branches, and then all had to endure the frightfully sharp leaves as they drove on. So it was with some relief that they arrived at Green Gables and disembarked. The front door opened in welcome, and greetings commenced. Gilbert carried Alice's trunk into the Green Gables entry then politely withdrew to the sleigh. Anne trailed after him. This moment would likely be the last they would have together before their wedding on the morrow, and Anne did not want to squander it. Gilbert paused, hazel eyes warm and inviting. The romantic goodbye Anne had been about to voice vanished from her mind entirely and was quickly replaced by the thought of their passion from the night before.

"I'm afraid I'm scandalously in love with you, Gil."

A mischievous glint came into Gilbert's eyes that reminded her of their youth. "Then I'm the luckiest of men," he replied in a husky tone that thrilled her. His hand found hers and drew her closer.

"Where did all this shrubbery come from?" shrilled Mrs. Lynde.

Startled, the couple separated.

"I had better go," said Anne reluctantly.

"'Parting is such sweet sorrow that I will say goodnight till it be tomorrow,'" quoted Gilbert. He sought to tease her but spoke more earnestly than he had anticipated.

A tingling flush suffused Anne's cheeks, and she suddenly felt rather woosy. Is this what it felt like to swoon, she wondered? It was not at all like how she expected.

Observing her reaction, Gilbert grew concerned and came toward her. Was she unwell?

Her senses sharpened at Gilbert's worry, and she waved him away, managing a laugh to reassure him.

After a searching look, Gilbert tipped his hat. "Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow!" he called as he got into the sleigh and took up the reins. With another tip of his hat, he was gone.

Rather dazed, Anne went into the house where a lovely tea awaited. As plum puffs were served, Anne smiled gratefully at Marilla and squeezed her hand. Equal gratitude for Mrs. Lynde's efforts diminished as Rachel began to describe her first infamous meeting with Anne, yet Anne was determined not to think 'less than charitable thoughts' of her wedding dressmaker. Still, she was relieved when the tea was drunk and the cakes eaten.

The afternoon became infinitely more delightful as the girls traipsed up the stairs to Anne's room to admire the wedding dress. Dora was also included, and she keenly felt the honor of being with such elegant and grown-up young ladies. After the appropriate raptures over the gown, Alice opened her valise, and to everyone's astonishment, drew forth a dozen long stem white roses. Carefully wrapped in damp towels and then again in waterproof leather, the roses had traveled all the way from a hothouse in Halifax. Smiling shyly, Alice presented them to Anne.

"For your bouquet, Anne."

Speechless for the second time in one day, Anne gently took the roses into her arms. "Oh, Alice," she breathed, amazed. She carefully laid the roses on her little table, then threw her arms around her college friend. "Thank you!"

Thus passed a pleasant afternoon of delightful conversation and friendship. The young women had not been long conversing, when a knock upon the door revealed Davy positively weighed down with evergreens.

"I had seen the holly you brought with you," said Davy, rosy-cheeked from the cold, "and thought you might like some of these brawly nice branches. I cut the best ones I could find, you see."

"You lovely lad!" cried Anne joyfully. "Thank you." She gave him a kiss upon his brow, and Davy blushingly retreated.

Supplied with plentiful 'shrubbery,' the girls commenced the manufacture of garlands, wreaths, and of course, one very special bouquet. When all was complete, they admired their handiwork.

"Now to arrange everything!" said Anne happily.

Garlands were draped and wreaths hung until Green Gables positively effused holiday charm. Scrubbed, dusted, and polished, everything glowed with care. Delicious delights filled the kitchen, and the weary decorators sat gladly at the kitchen table to eat a light supper. Diana excused herself afterward, to return home, but vowed to be there early the next morn. Marilla and Mrs. Lynde urged the bride and her guest upstairs to relax, while they did the dishes with the twins.

Anne led Alice to Dora's room, where she would spend the night, as no spare room was to be had. Dora would sleep in Anne's gabled room for the night and call it her own one day hence. In the need for boarders, there had been a planned shuffling of rooms, in which it was decided that Anne's room was too small to serve lodgers. The twins would instead be obliged to move into other rooms, along with Mrs. Lynde. Davy would sleep in the lean-to, where John-Michel had once slept. Mrs. Lynde would share with Marilla and give up her adjacent sitting room. And thus, rooms would be made available for boarders.

Alice peered out the window at the falling snow as Anne set a full pitcher of hot water on the basin of the room's washstand.

"Anne," said Alice with some hesitation, "I have something to tell you." She turned away from the window to see Anne pulling a heavy quilt from underneath the bed.

Anne paused, hearing the significance underlying Alice's soft spoken words. "Yes, dear?"

"I leave for Egypt in the new year," said Alice. "I have been hired to join an expedition."

Anne gazed at her in sheer amazement. The quilt dropped from her arms.

"I've always wanted to go, you know," continued Alice hurriedly. "And I applied to the Egypt Exploration Fund, thinking they would perhaps have some use for a geology B.A., but never actually thinking they would hire me. But th-they did." She looked at Anne earnestly. "I have never wanted anything _more_."

"They hire women?" Anne asked, still dazed.

"Well," said Alice with hesitation again. "I'm not exactly sure. I applied as 'A. Henderson,' you see." She laughed under her breath. "It may be a bit of a shock when I arrive."

Mirth broke free of Anne's astonishment, and she giggled helplessly. The girls' laughter filled the small gabled room like the merriest of bells.

A thought suddenly occurred to Anne, and she ceased laughing mid-giggle. "Your uncle?" she asked, concerned.

"He seeks to prevent me, of course," said Alice, unfazed. "But I come into my majority before I leave. I will no longer need to rely on him."

Anne smiled at her friend. "I am so happy for you, my dear. Although I will be frightfully sad that you will be so far!"

Alice clasped Anne's hand. "I had wanted you to come with me as my companion. But then I received your wedding invitation. I am so happy for you, too, Anne."

"You're going to get along splendidly with Gilbert's Aunt Katherine," said Anne with a grin.

Fatigued by her journey, Alice soon retired for the night, and Anne went to her own gabled room to bathe. She soaked and scrubbed herself slowly, fatigued from the day, her thoughts filled with the morrow. The washcloth sank to the bottom of the tub, the soap in its dish forgot. Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow…

She cupped her breasts, felt their soft weight, and wondered what Gilbert would think. And, more importantly, she thought with a small smile, what would _she_ think of Gilbert, trouser-free? Wresting free from her thoughts, she found the washcloth and continued her ablutions, until there was a knock upon the door.

"Anne," came Marilla's voice. "Are you decent?"

"Just a moment!" Anne called. She hastily wrung out her washed hair and rose shivering from the tub. She toweled herself off with quick, rough strokes and hurriedly put on her nightgown. She had had the forethought to warm her dressing gown with the hot water bottle beneath her sheets, and she sighed with pleasure as she donned it, its warmth combatting the chill.

"Come in!" she called to Marilla.

Marilla came in more slowly than her usual brisk step. She paused in the doorway, her eyes on Anne, whose tall and slender silhouette stood before the window, her eyes shining in the candlelight. How had her little girl grown so quickly into this beautiful and elegant bride? wondered Marilla. How had this girl, this young woman, utterly changed Marilla's life for the better? Marilla would never quite be able to put her finger on the how, but she would be forever grateful.

Unsure how to relay such thoughts, Marilla picked up the hairbrush on Anne's vanity table and motioned for Anne to sit. Anne came slowly to Marilla, sat at the vanity table's chair, and looked up at Marilla with luminous eyes.

"Oh, Marilla," she said passionately, "What would I be without you?"

Marilla's throat felt tight with emotion. "Dear child," she said hoarsely. "What would we be without you?"

Tears welled in Anne's eyes. Marilla began to brush Anne's long hair, gently and slowly, airing out the damp strands. A solemn silence came over them, and Marilla brushed Anne's hair as long minutes passed, neither speaking, both thinking of life and loss and hope. At last, Marilla laid down the brush and pressed a kiss to Anne's brow.

"You are a treasure, Anne," she said, then quietly left the room.

Anne watched her go, smiling sadly. She braided back her hair, then surveyed her room. Leftover greenery still lay scattered throughout, and she gathered it up. Dora then shyly crept into the room to take her bath. Anne ensured the water was still hot enough, before she went downstairs with the greenery in her arms. There was still one task to do.

The kitchen was dark and quiet, its cupboards and shelves filled with food aplenty on the eve of her wedding. Anne lit the gaslamp, found a cookie, then sat at the kitchen table with the greenery arrayed before her. With love and care, she fashioned three more wreaths. One for Matthew. One for Ruby. And one for John Blythe.

It was late when she tied the final ribbon, her eyes blinking sleepily. Yawning, she retired to her gabled room. The washtub had been emptied and dried, and Dora sweetly slept in Anne's bed, pressed into the corner, conscientious even in sleep. Anne smiled at the tender sight, then went to lay the wreaths upon the vanity table. Her eyes fell upon The Manuscript, awaiting her pen. Incomplete, yet filled with promise, it gave voice to Matthew Cuthbert's final secret. She laid her hand upon the manuscript, thinking of his life and vowing to write of it.

Anne blew out the gaslamp, then climbed into bed with Dora, tucking her in against the chill. It was her final night in this gabled room; Dora was to inherit it when she had gone. Nor did Anne wish it otherwise; the little room was sacred to youth and girlhood - to the past that was to close tomorrow before the chapter of wifehood opened.

"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow… " she murmured to herself before sleep overtook her.

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A/N: Thank you for reading! Goodness, I had planned to post three chapters before Christmas, and that definitely didn't happen. I'll try to post more often, but we'll see. I'm a very slow writer, although I'm trying to work out a plan to write more. Thank you so much for your patience. I know I said that this chapter would be the wedding chapter, but I just had to get in this bonus chapter with Anne! I hope you had a wonderful holiday season. Happy New Year!


	12. The First Bride of Green Gables

A/N: Hello! It has been a VERY LONG time since I last posted a chapter, and goodness, the world has turned upside down in the intervening months. I sincerely hope you are well and safe during these difficult times. Perhaps it was because of the pandemic, or the difficulty of life navigating this new world, but writing felt like a challenge I didn't want to undertake, another chore I didn't have time for after a long day. I am finding the joy in writing again, and here is the result of those efforts.

 **Heads up! This story, as of this chapter, is now M-rated. If you would like to avoid the M-rated part of this chapter, go ahead and skip the last thousand words. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy this step forward in Gilbert and Anne's relationship.**

I wish you well! Thank you for all the lovely reviews and messages! Thank you for your continued readership! Your support means so much to me!

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Gilbert doffed his cap, holding it in mittened hands, his eyes on the evergreen wreath before him. Fashioned of vivid pine and cypress branches and tied with a wide, red ribbon, the wreath stood out against the gravestone of John David Blythe. A soft and gentle falling of snowflakes blanketed the cemetery in which Gilbert stood, dusting his curls and shoulders with white powder. A wave of emotion swept over him, not unexpected given the circumstances, but then again wholly unexpected, for Gilbert had not brought the wreath for his father.

It must have been Anne who had made her own pilgrimage to those who slept in Avonlea's churchyard cemetery. To think that she had made a wreath for Gilbert's father, that she had come here on her wedding day, brought tears to his eyes. Gilbert thought of his father's last words.

"Your last hope for me came true, Dad," said Gilbert softly. "I'm marrying Anne today."

He stood for some time by his father's grave, silently wishing his father was alive and well. Brushing away tears, he walked through the cemetery, until he found the grave of Matthew Tobias Cuthbert. Sure enough, another evergreen wreath graced the gravestone.

"I'll take care of her," Gilbert whispered. "I promise."

As he paused by the Cuthbert grave, he thought of the future stretching out before him. A life with Anne. He could not have thought it possible only months earlier.

Smiling to himself, he walked through the cemetery to its little gate, pausing briefly at the elaborate headstone that marked Ruby's resting place. Another wreath lay upon her grave as well. His heart pained him, as it always did, when he thought of Ruby's early death. Ruby should have had a happy future before her.

A thick blanket of snow lay across Avonlea, beautiful and bitter and cold. Freshly fallen, it was a delightful soft powder, crisp and white. Snowflakes continued to drift down, merrily adding to the bounty of snow upon the land. Gilbert rubbed his mittened hands together and blew on them as he walked back to the Blythe farm, wading through the snow in places. How had Anne managed to walk to the cemetery with long skirts? he wondered, shaking his head.

The Blythe house was quiet and calm. Gilbert pinned a bit of holly to the front door and laid some pine boughs along the mantel, carefully around the mantel clock and photographs. He then mounted the stairs and went into the bedroom that would be his and Anne's this very night. In his hands, he clutched more holly and a bit of mistletoe. With a devilish smile, he tacked the holly and mistletoe just above the bed's headboard.

He nearly skipped down the stairs, feeling wicked and buoyant. He bounded into the kitchen where he verified that the pantry was well-stocked for their honeymoon. No doubt, more savories leftover from the wedding supper would also be supplied. There was wood aplenty chopped and stacked on the porch and in the log holders beside the stove and fireplaces. The house was clean and tidy. All was in readiness.

Gilbert had spent the better part of the morning at the Fletcher house, preparing for the wedding. It was with some relief that he had been shooed out the door, with his aunt and mother insisting the groom need only ready himself for the day. The Fletcher house was a riot of activity and family squabbles, and Aunt Mary Maria was even more unbearable than usual. With a sigh of relief, he had then made his pilgrimage to the snowy cemetery.

Now alone in the quiet and waiting house, he itched for something to do. The oats were threshed and stored, the livestock warm in their barn… He wandered the house, becoming more and more uneasy.

He was not this lucky.

It did not seem possible that his long-sought Anne would soon become his bride. He nervously checked the rings, assuring himself that they were not lost. He did not admit to himself that the rings also proved he was not imagining this day's good fortune: Anne _Blythe_. Just the thought had him standing motionless, a smile on his face.

The chime of the mantel clock roused Gilbert from his thoughts, and he went up the stairs to ready himself for the wedding. In his new bedroom, Gilbert opened his armoire and withdrew the grey suit that his mother had once made for a different dream. As he dressed himself, tears came to his eyes. He needed no other dream.

His mother had sewed him a fine, new, snowy-white shirt to go with the suit. He gently tugged it on and tucked it in. He buttoned the waistcoat and knotted his necktie. Then he put on the suit coat. No longer did he need to wear shoes that had taken a plunge into Barry's Pond. The money from the sale of the yearlings had gone to many things in the preparation for the wedding and a life with his bride, including a new pair of dress shoes. He slipped them on and tied the laces. There was a mirror on the inner door of Anne's wardrobe, and he opened it to see himself. He caught sight of a tall young man in a nicely fitted suit. Too tall, he had to crouch down to see his face, and he silently observed his shaven jaw for any missed whiskers. Satisfied, he straightened and adjusted his cuffs.

As he did so, he heard a jingle of sleigh bells and lively voices. Hurrying down the stairs and to the front door, Gilbert welcomed his mother as she came up the front steps.

"You look so handsome," she said as they embraced.

"It's the suit," he said with a grin.

She beamed and batted away a few tears. "Oh, Gilbert, I'm so happy for you." She sighed. "Your father would be so happy for you."

"Thanks, Ma," he said, becoming teary-eyed himself.

"Let's get a move on!" called Aunt Kitty from the sleigh. "Are you ready, Gilbert? We can't let the food grow cold!"

Gilbert laughed. "I only need my coat." He rushed back inside, followed by his mother.

"Gilbert dear," he heard his mother say as he quickly donned his coat, hat, and gloves.

"Yes, Ma?" he asked absently. He verified the rings were in his pocket.

"Well, I know this is terrible timing, and I scarcely know just _what_ to tell you, but I feel I must try - "

Gilbert looked at her with some confusion. "Ma?"

Edie was flustered, wringing her hands, and a red flush crept up her neck. "It really should be your father having this conversation with you, but as he's not here…"

"Yes?" asked Gilbert, growing concerned.

"It's about your wedding night!" Edie exclaimed.

Gilbert's eyes widened. "Ma, you don't have to…" he mumbled as he reddened himself.

"Well, is there anything you need to know?" she asked, eyes averted in embarrassment.

"Thanks, Ma, but I'm fine. It'll be fine," he said, almost to reassure himself. "Let's go."

Edie nodded, and the two went out the door. The frigid air was a relief to Gilbert who had become uncomfortably warm. It was scarcely tolerable to think of his mother discussing such things with him. He couldn't possibly let her know just how much he anticipated his wedding night. He took a deep, wintery breath and then locked the front door and walked to the waiting sleigh.

The sleigh was a tight fit. The four women were crammed together in the back seat, and Gilbert squeezed onto the front seat with his Uncle George and Dr. Dave. Making matters worse were the crates at everyone's feet, filled with covered pots and insulated with straw to keep them hot. An aroma of baked ham permeated the frigid air. Uncle George shook the reins, and with a "yi-up!" they were on their way to the wedding.

Dr. Dave, beside Gilbert, twisted to reach into his breast pocket, and nearly elbowed Gilbert in the eye.

"Oh! Sorry, son," he said, then held forth a pocket-watch. "This is for you. It was my father's. He was the first of our family to come to the Island." His uncle swallowed hard and sniffed. "John asked me to keep this for you back when he… well, some years back."

Gilbert's eyes widened, and he fought tears, as his uncle set the pocket-watch in his hand. His father had saved this for him, at a time when Edie and Gilbert were pawning all they could to pay for medicine and doctor's bills. John had known and protected this piece so that Gilbert could have it.

A loud humpf! came from the backseat. "Surely it doesn't even work," sniffed Aunt Mary Maria. "An old thing like that."

"It's well made," retorted Uncle Dave, glaring at his sister over his shoulder. "And well cared for."

Gilbert carefully opened the catch to see the watch face. A faint ticking could be heard as the second hand steadily moved. "It works," he breathed. The time was wrong, but that could be easily adjusted. Opposite of the watch face was engraved,

 _Ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free._

"The greatest and grandest verse in the Bible," Gilbert murmured.

"A Blythe tenet," agreed Uncle Dave, as the sleigh came over the hill and Green Gables came into sight.

Green Gables was joyful and festive, beautifully decorated with evergreens, holly, and red ribbons. The Blythes and Fletchers entered the house merrily, embracing the Green Gables folks and beaming. Only Mary Maria shunned the effusive greetings. She found the nearest armchair and moodily sat in it, thinking weddings these days were far from the solemn occasions they ought to be. Gilbert received a kiss on the cheek from Marilla and Dora, and then was subjected to a cheek pinch from Mrs. Lynde. The crates were carefully carried to the kitchen to be dished up for the wedding feast.

The wedding guests, although few in number, were plentiful enough to fill the small farmhouse. The rooms were crowded with friends and family who eagerly surrounded the newly arrived groom. Amid hearty pats on the back and a chorus of good wishes, a glass of Christmas punch was pushed into Gilbert's hand, and he took a healthy gulp.

"Good," said Fred's voice, accompanied by yet another slap on the back. Gilbert nearly stumbled forward. "The wedding should be starting soon." Fred drank from his own glass as Gilbert downed his. "Shall I get you another?"

Gilbert shook his head, smiling at his friend. "Thanks, mate. I can scarcely believe that Anne's marrying me today."

"It's about time," Fred grinned. "I only wish I could have had as short an engagement."

Gilbert sheepishly shrugged. "I'm over the moon about it, frankly, but people will talk."

Fred nodded sagely, then looked concerned.

Gilbert shook his head vehemently. "Of course not, Fred." He thought of that passionate night and blushed. "It's - finances," he said under his breath.

"Ah," said Fred sympathetically.

Heart hammering, Gilbert was spared further embarrassment by Dora, who shyly presented him with a corsage to pin to his lapel. With some amazement, Gilbert observed the white rose twined with a sprig of holly. How Anne managed to procure roses in winter was a feat of imagination.

"Roses?" asked Fred in surprise.

"It would seem so," said Gilbert.

It was then that Mrs. Lynde informed him that the bride was ready, and she began marshalling guests to find seats in the parlor. Gilbert followed the guests into the crowded parlor and took his place beside Mr. Allen at the fireplace, the fire crackling merrily behind them. It was a hubbub of activity as guests seated themselves. Mrs. Lynde's pronounced shushing brought about silence, along with a few irritated glares. Aunt Katherine began to play her cello, a lovely rendition of Canon in D bringing all to rapt and reverent attention.

Fred, red-faced and smiling, came to stand at Gilbert's shoulder and promptly became even redder as Diana swept down the stairs, a posy of roses, holly, and mistletoe in her hands. She smiled sweetly as she walked down the parlor's makeshift aisle, her eyes on Fred. She was followed by Alice, clutching her own bouquet. Alice shyly assumed her place beside Diana at the parlor mantle, as Anne and Marilla came slowly down the homespun carpeted stairs, arms linked, eyes glistening with unshed tears. A few guests' heads drew together and whispers broke out, as the two women slowly made their way down the aisle together.

Anne was a happy and beautiful bride - the first bride of Green Gables - slender and shining-eyed, in the mist of her maiden veil, with her arms full of roses. Gilbert, waiting for her by the parlor fireplace, looked at her with adoring eyes. Was he worthy of her? Could he make her as happy as he hoped? He had so little to offer her - then, as he held out his hand, their eyes met and his doubt was swept away in a suffusing tide of happiness.

Snowflakes danced whimsically past the parlor windows as they exchanged their heartfelt vows. 'For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer' resonated through Gilbert as he gently bestowed the amethyst ring onto Anne's finger. The sheer happiness reflected in her eyes bolstered Gilbert's own joy like a bulwark against a sea of uncertainty. They belonged to each other; and no matter what life might hold for them, it could never alter that. And, hands clasped, standing before the parlor mantle, surrounded by their closest family and friends, they became husband and wife.

The sealing kiss was tender and sweet and entirely too romantic for a few wedding guests. Aunt Mary Maria was "properly affronted" she later conveyed to anyone who had the misfortune of her company. Mrs. Rachel took it upon herself to severely inform the happy couple that there were still some hours yet until the wedding night. Aunt Katherine nearly swooned with delight. Diana blushingly wondered if she would have such a kiss for her own nuptials. Fred glanced endearingly at her, red-faced and bashful, and sent her heart aflutter.

Never had the old green-gabled house known a blither, merrier afternoon. A fiddle joined cello 'Lady D' to provide a backdrop of veritable merriment in folksy music as wedding guests milled about, offering up jolly toasts of Christmas punch and filling their small plates with savories. All the old jests and quips that must have done duty at weddings since Eden were served up, and seemed as new and brilliant and mirth-provoking as if they had never been uttered before. The numerous chairs in the parlor were cleared to allow for dancing, and wedding guests jigged and twirled and clapped. Laughter and joy had their way among the well-wishers and their day's token king and queen. Gilbert, hand-in-hand with his bride, stealing all the kisses he could (Mrs. Lynde's admonishments notwithstanding), felt as though he need only reach to the heavens and pluck a shining star for his Annest of Annes. Boundless joy was an understatement.

A fruitcake beautifully drizzled with royal icing and topped with sugared plums was cut into by the bride and groom's joined hands and partaken by the merry crowd. As platters of Christmas cookies made the rounds, Edie noticed the couple's eagerness to depart. She heaved a sigh of wistful happiness. Batting away a tear and teasing herself for her sentimentality, she set about making the arrangements for the bride and groom's departure. She then heaved another sigh, steeling herself to go rescue the latest person to fall into Aunt Mary Maria's clutches. The hapless Mrs. Allen gratefully sped away from the dismal aunt, and Edie took her place.

Aunt Mary Maria heaved a sigh not unlike Edie herself had just done. "It's hard to see the young folk grow up and leave."

Edie looked at her in surprise. Perhaps Mary Maria did have some sense and sympathy underneath it all. She patted the aunt's hand kindly. Mary Maria continued, "Yet, of all the nice young ladies he could have chosen, he married a _redhead_. Upon my honor, I have never seen such a tint of red."

Edie stiffened, then relaxed with a sly smile. "It _is_ such a beautiful color, isn't it? So unique and rare. Gilbert's a lucky man." With a final pat of the old woman's hand, Edie rose and fled herself.

A jubilant crowd gathered on the porch to engage in a vigorous throwing of rice and old shoes, in which Davy played a valiant part. The laughing bride and groom hurried through the barrage to the waiting sleigh, and, with a merry jingle of bells, they were driving away down the long, snowy lane. Anne turned at its end to wave her last goodbye. Gilbert glanced over his shoulder to see the guests gathered on the porch, all waving madly. Marilla, however, stood at the gate, watching them drive away, her arms wrapped around herself, her face gray and sad. Something snagged in Gilbert's heart at her forlorn expression.

The evening was clear and frosty, all ebony of shadow and silver of snowy slope. Bright stars hung transcendent above them, illuminating their path with a soft and lustrous light. The sleigh skimmed over the snow, and the harness bells jingled. Anne nestled close to Gilbert, kissing him, and Gilbert promptly forgot all about the forlorn Marilla. He clutched his bride closer, the reins loose in his hand, bestowing liberal kisses. They arrived at the Blythe house, surprised to see Dr. Dave and Aunt Katherine, standing on the front porch, clutching snowshoes. In the melee of rice and shoes Gilbert and Anne had not noticed them missing. His great uncle came forward as the sleigh came to a halt and grasped the horse's bridle.

"Welcome, dears!" cried his aunt joyfully.

"We couldn't have you come to a cold and dark house now, could we?" said Dr. Dave with a smile. "We'll also take care of the horse and sleigh."

Surprised and touched, Gilbert thanked him, and his uncle winked. Gilbert's face reddened, and to cover his discomposure, he jumped out of the sleigh and lifted Anne down. With a smile, he led her up the snowy steps. Aunt Katherine gave them each a hug before scurrying toward the sleigh. His aunt and uncle waved cheerily as they drove away.

Gilbert squeezed Anne's hand. "Welcome home," he said before scooping her into his arms and carrying her over the threshold. Inside, the fires and gas lamps were lit, casting a welcoming glow. Gilbert held Anne for a long moment, before setting her down and closing the door behind them. Suddenly bashful, both of them blushed and looked away from one another. He helped her out of her warm coat and removed his own. It was then Gilbert noticed the small table by the front door that usually held letters now held something else.

"What's this?" breathed Anne.

On the small table lay a bottle of currant wine and another of what Uncle Dave referred to as "a little of the Scott Act." Two appropriate glasses (no teacups this time) sat ready beside the bottles.

"It can't be," Anne said with an air of disbelief.

Gilbert glanced at her in confusion as she picked up the currant wine and examined it. "It is!" she cried.

"Is what?" asked Gilbert.

Anne laughed a bit shakily. "It's a story for another time, darling." She laughed again. "So this is where it went."

Gilbert pulled her into his arms. "I've only been married for a few hours, and I already know vexing a wife is," he said with a chuckle.

"You knew that about me long ago, I'm afraid," said Anne Blythe blithely. "I suppose this has been set out for us?" She gestured at the table.

"I suppose," said Gilbert with a smile, releasing her. "Would you like a glass, Anne?"

"I don't know," Anne said dubiously. "I hope this isn't a habit with you."

Gilbert laughed. "It's not, I assure you."

"Well, perhaps a little," Anne said with some hesitation. "Not the cordial, though."

Cordial? thought Gilbert, perplexed. He had been reaching for the currant wine but paused at the shake of her head. He grasped the other bottle instead and worked the cork free before pouring a little into each glass. Gilbert handed her one glass and then raised the other.

"To a lifetime of love and joy, Anne."

Anne blushed and smiled. Gilbert raised the glass to his lips to sip it slowly.

"I think you're supposed to knock it back," said Anne helpfully, thinking of the way a certain Mr. Thomas and Mr. Hammond had done such things years ago.

Knock it back? thought Gilbert in surprise. "Like this?" he asked and drank it down in one fast gulp. He instantly regretted it as he coughed and spluttered. His throat burned and his eyes watered.

"Oh, dear!" cried Anne, quickly setting down her glass. That had _never_ happened with Mr. Thomas or Mr. Hammond. She hovered guiltily at Gilbert's side, unsure how to help.

"I'm fine," Gilbert managed to say.

"I'm so sorry, Gil," said Anne with wide eyes.

Gilbert raised his brows, his watery eyes locking with hers. Then he burst out laughing. Anne joined in.

"Anne-girl," he said, enfolding her in his arms. "What am I to do with you?"

"At any rate, you're stuck with me now," said Anne.

"Thankfully," he sighed and kissed her. Anne wrapped her arms around his neck, the flowers from the bouquet in her hand tickling Gilbert's ear, though he cared not. The kiss deepened and long moments passed before they drew apart with flushed faces and darkened eyes. Gilbert's heart pounded a fierce tempo within him. Wordlessly, they clasped hands and ascended the stairs. Hand in hand they stepped over the threshold of the bedroom they would now share.

The bed loomed with promises of tender revelations as they stood silently in the room, gazing at one another. It was dark, the room swathed in soft shadows, the only light the shining stars beyond the window.

"May I kiss you?" asked Gilbert, suddenly rendered formal.

"May I undress you?" asked Anne.

Gilbert grinned. "Eager are you?"

"Aren't you?" Anne asked seriously.

Gilbert inhaled sharply. "Yes. Oh, Anne, you don't know how much."

She smiled, pleased, and raised her hands to his collar. "May I?"

"Please," he whispered.

She led Gilbert to the bed, where she set down her bouquet on the small bedside table. Then standing beside the bed, she undid his necktie and began to slowly unbutton his waistcoat. His shirt and undershirt followed, as she moved steadily closer to his trousers. Gilbert stood stockstill, his heart pounding, as she undid the buttons and eased his undergarments and trousers off. He slipped off the new shoes to aid her and stepped out from the fabric now on the floor. Clad only in silvery shadow, Gilbert was silent as Anne observed him. Her eyes met his, shining with love, and Gilbert's breath caught. Despite the chill in the room, he had never felt more heated in his life. He extended his hand with a husky plea, "Now may I kiss you?"

She nodded, at a loss for words, a sudden shyness overcoming her.

Gilbert cupped her cheek, drawing her in for a gentle kiss. When they parted, he said, "Anne, there is no need to… do anything more than you wish. If I only sleep beside you tonight, that would be a dream in itself."

Anne gave him an arch look, one eyebrow raised. Gilbert's blood heated further at her coyness despite his earnest declaration.

"'We are such stuff as dreams are made on,'" quoted Gilbert, soldiering on, "'and our little life is rounded with a sleep.'"

She smiled at him with shining eyes before slowly turning around. "Would you…?" she asked, gesturing to the row of tiny buttons down her back.

Gilbert fumbled at the buttons, trying to hide his eagerness. Gradually, the dress fell away in a billow of white fabric to the floor. He found the ties of her corset and loosened the strings until it fell away as well. Beneath, Anne wore one of the latest fashions (although this was lost on Gilbert), a combination undergarment of a sleeveless blouse and dear, little shorts, all edged in homemade lace. Her stockings were secured above the knee with ribbon-tied bows. She kicked off her heeled, mulière shoes and turned around to face him in her stocking-feet. Gilbert's heart leapt at the inviting gleam in her eyes as she gently took his hands and led them to the clasps down her front. Hands shaking, he undid each one until the combination garment floated past her hips and onto the floor. Gilbert's breath caught.

Deshabillé, Anne stood before him, slender of body with long legs, her milky skin dusted with freckles across her bare shoulders. She had high, round breasts with pert, rosy nipples. Gilbert watched breathlessly as Anne raised her hands to her hair and pulled free the pins holding together her coiffure. Plink! Hairpins fell to the floor. Her hair came loose in thick waves. A curtain of red hair floated down her back. She pushed back the tresses tumbling over her shoulders.

Rather lightheaded, he gently took her hand. "Oh, Anne. You are loveliness itself."

Anne blushed, then shivered. "Will you take me to bed?"

"Anne-girl, you're cold." Her shiver had Gilbert instinctively drawing her close to warm her. He gathered her in his arms, thrilling at their nakedness. The bed was behind him and while he held her close with one arm, he pulled back the covers.

"You fairly _exude_ heat," said Anne, huddling close.

"Let's get you under the quilt and flannels," said Gilbert with a laugh.

Anne seemed loathe to part from him even for a moment, and he was delighted as she tugged him onto the bed after her. Gilbert wrapped her snugly in his arms and made sure the blankets were tucked in warmly around her. Discovering her freezing fingers, he rubbed her hands and blew on them. When he released them, he watched, amused, as her hands dropped to his chest to touch the curly hair upon it. His amusement transformed into self-consciousness as he wondered what she must think of his body, pressed so close to hers. His arousal could hardly be less evident.

Such concerns were allayed as Anne looked into his eyes, her own dark with desire. "You're beautiful, Gil." Her hand trailed shyly down his chest and stomach until her fingertips brushed his manhood.

Gilbert closed his eyes at the bliss of her touch. "Oh, Anne," he said huskily. Beneath the blankets, his hands reached for her, spanning that slender waist, her silky soft skin. He ran his hands up her body until he cupped her breasts, feeling their soft weight. He could hardly hear himself think beyond the pounding of his heart and the yearning he felt to join his body with hers.

"Is this alright?" Gilbert murmured.

"Mmmhhmm," Anne sighed. "Yes."

His lips found hers, and he kissed her tenderly, lingeringly, treasuring her and savoring the moment. Anne kissed him back with an eagerness that enthused him, and the kiss deepened. Breathing hard, Anne laid back and pulled Gilbert along with her. He hesitated for a moment, before settling himself between her legs.

"May I?" he asked.

"Please," she whispered.

He pressed himself against her, his heart hammering, almost in disbelief that he was at this moment at last.

"Wait," said Anne suddenly, and he drew back in a rush.

"I'm sorry, love," he said breathlessly, eyes wide.

"Don't be sorry," Anne said softly. "Just touch me here." She found his hand and guided him to the cleft in her thighs. His heart leapt into his throat at the touch of the soft, damp curls nestled there.

"Like this?" he asked, eager to learn.

"Like this," Anne whispered, drawing his fingers further and guiding them into soft, gentle movements. Amazed, Gilbert realized that women touched themselves, with the same intentions as a man might touch himself. He had thought that women were free from such a need. It had always been something he was slightly ashamed of, the need to stroke himself. It was a last resort, when no other distraction would work. Yet here was Anne, unashamed, showing him how to stroke and fondle her womanhood.

"Yes, oh yes," sighed Anne.

Gilbert continued the ministrations and watched in wonderment as Anne's breathing grew heavy and became soft cries of pleasure. Her legs stroked his, and the sight of her bliss had him in an ever-increasing haze of desire.

"Oh, Anne," he groaned, as Anne sighed and relaxed beneath his hands.

"That was transcendent," Anne breathed.

Gilbert chuckled, nuzzling her ear and pressing heated kisses down her neck. Anne kissed his neck in turn, until their lips met and they kissed in a frenzied passion.

"Please, Gil," purred Anne against his lips.

"Shall we?" panted Gilbert.

Anne nodded, a sheen of sweat glistening upon her body. "Yes, darling."

Gilbert pressed himself against her, entering her for the first time, and they sank back into the pillows and feather mattress. His heart soared, and he groaned at the all-encompassing sensation. Cradling her head, he observed her for any signs of apprehension, and at the inviting gleam in her eyes, he slowly, gingerly pushed himself deeper. She became tense, and he paused.

"More," she whispered.

By increments, Gilbert fully sheathed himself within her, pausing at any expression of strain.

"I love you," he murmured. "Oh, how I love you."

Wrapped around each other, they moved carefully together, creating a slow and tender rhythm. With every gentle thrust, Gilbert felt himself reach the brink of his own transcendent experience. It was sheer will that he withheld himself from ending their lovemaking precipitately. Groaning, he withdrew and attempted to calm the surging need.

"Gil?" queried Anne.

"I just don't want this to end," Gilbert stammered.

"We can do it again," she said, smiling.

"But never for the first time," Gilbert replied earnestly.

Anne's eyes softened, and she smiled gently at him. "I couldn't have envisioned a more exquisite first time."

How was he this lucky?

Gilbert could scarcely believe that he was in bed with Anne, consummating their wedding night. To be the one who brought her such pleasure filled him with an overwhelming joy. He bent to kiss her, and heartened by her encouragement, he entered her again, moving inside her in long steady strokes. Anne locked her arms around his neck, sighing into his ear that she loved him, and his thrusts became uneven. Gilbert groaned and clutched Anne to him as he thrust deep within her. Then, spent and exhilarated, he collapsed beside Anne and held her close.

The stars beyond the window winked and sparkled, casting a pearly light into the darkened little room. The snowy tips of fir trees and bare, silvery birches could be seen through the frosty windowpanes. Distant white slopes of fallow farmland stretched beyond the trees to an old gabled house that had just sent forth its first bride. Glowing lights still shone through several of the farmhouse windows as wedding guests bundled themselves up for a chilly return home. Sleighs and buggies wound their way past a frozen pond and a sleepy cemetery with a few snow-dusted wreaths.

Nestled together in the bed Gilbert's grandfather had built, under the quilt his grandparents had sewn, Gilbert counted his blessings as he pressed kisses to Anne's throat. She interlaced her fingers with his as she lay within his arms, sighing happily.

"Darling," Gilbert began. "Did I hurt you? Are you well?"

"I'm well," she sighed. "More than well."

He kissed her. "I love you."

"As I love you," she smiled. Looking out the window, she cried, "What a wintery world out there, and we're so warm and snug in here." She cuddled further into his arms. "Shall we stay here until 'fades the last long streak of snow?'"

Gilbert's heart leapt. "Until our love 'buds and blossoms like the rest?'"

Anne blushed and Gilbert grinned, drawing her close for another kiss.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'll do my best to write more often and provide new chapters regularly. The story is fully-planned out, it's just a matter of writing it down. Sending you my very best wishes for your health and safety during this pandemic. It's so strange to think that no matter where we are in the world, our lives have been affected in some way by this virus. We really are all in this together.


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